Contents

[14.1] Dangers

Sleene tracks Feorik north through the woods using Dainye's hawk figurine until dusk looms and the storm comes.

Storn and Darvian find the tower sealed. Feorik finds sign that Brian has perished and tracks Karod to discover him with Orinden and Nasir, the Red Cultist.

[14.2] The Dead

Sirilyr spots goblins, and worse, emerge from within trees. They find five corpses of missing hunters from Tir.

Rasoric is killed.

[14.1] Dangers

            William made slow process slightly ahead of Spencer and Georan. He blindly followed the sounds of whoever was ahead of him, Star, maybe Macomb. Probably not Sleene, her wolves ran by earlier much faster than any of them were traveling. They kept going, and going, William was panting, slowing. Spencer and Georan caught up to him, having their own struggles. William spoke raggedly to them the way a spry and energetic youth doesn't, "Well that was a bit of pain eh?"

            Sirilyr led them onward for the better part of an hour at a trot through the dark woods before he slung his shield and sheathed his sword, satisfied that they had indeed broken the green ring which had surrounded the high forest meadow.

            The three traveled together, offering each other their shoulders for each of them was ready to drop, but none of them wanted to be left behind in the darkness. They came upon Macomb, leaning against a tree rasping. "Pain. Got to stop," he winced as they approached. The sounds of Star's movement seemed far ahead.

            Between gasps for air and through clenched teeth, William put forth the question "How far away is the sun?  Could we not travel until then?"

            "Could be hours."

            Creatures like these ought to fear her blinding light and warmth, come we must march through to the dawn!"

            "I…can't."

            William knew his powers were as drained as they'd been since Viatteni taught him how to channel the gods' power, but he lay his hands on Macomb. "Here, let me try my tired mind and hands to mend the pain of your wounds..." He knew his effort was but a token.

            "Wounds'r too deep," Macomb said. "Just got to rest."

            William, with a wistful look in his pain gouged face said, "My Da always said to climb the tree if there be a beast to flee... but they never had axes before!" Then the sounds of movement ahead stopped too.

 

            Sleene moved up to Sirilyr and said, "We are tired, but I was told to keep moving until well after sunrise.  If it is possible, we should try to do so."  She turned to the others to offer encouragement while petting Nip and Snap and Feint. Nip and Snap had caught up early on. Sleene felt wounds on them, but they did not seem too bothered. She only sensed Star by the noise she made, and realized they were actually much further ahead than she thought.

            Star came to them first. "I can’t go on," she panted. "I think the others are falling behind." For the moment the forest was quiet. The other four had stopped moving somewhere behind them.

            "By the Hills," Sleene swore softly.  "Star, how far back are the others?"

            She shook her head then muttered, "I don't know," when she realized it was too dark to see much.

            "Sirilyr, we cannot afford to be separated like this.  Can you find a good resting place?" Sleene asked.

            Off to the left was what looked to be a stand of maple silhouetted against the dim starlight peeking through the clouds. Figuring that more than one of the small band was ready to drop, "'ere, this way," he pointing the way off their course. Blood oozed from between the soldier's gauntleted fingers.

            "Ranger, I hate to leave Star alone but we need to get the others here.  I think we have to go back for them."

            "Go inta tha' thicket quick as ye can now." He ordered Star, allowing her to pass by him as he stood with one hand whilst grasping his seeping wound with the other. Was it getting colder? "Must be a bit before dawn," he panted, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his tunic. Feint sat at his side whimpering and furtively lapping at Sirilyr's clasped hurt.

            Sleene examined the ranger thoughtfully, "You don't look very good yourself.  Can you make a short search?  I'm in better shape than you are but..." She looked at the dark uncertainly.  "Not long until dawn, but we should find the others soon and lead them here if we can."

            With a steady, low-key voice Sirilyr responded, "You go an settle down in tha' thicket under the Maples yonder with Star. I an ol' Feint's nose will sniff out the others an bring 'em along."  He blinked the weariness from his sandy eyes and gave her a reassuring smile before gently squeezing the druidesses' shoulders in a semi-embrace and turning to back track their trail. "Come Feint," he whispered again drawing his blade. 

            Sleene stiffened at his touch, pushing away with perhaps a bit of panic.  "No, ranger.  As good as you may think you are, I still have a few tricks that you do not.  We go together.  Six is better than two."  She smiled a wicked unseen grin, "Besides, you are the only one they can track and I think I can lead them off on a merry chase if they are trying to follow our footprints." They set off back the way they came, as best as they could tell. Nip and Snap seemed unwilling to go. There was no light looking downward to verify they did not stray.

 

            "I think they realized we stopped," Macomb muttered in the silent dark.

            "We should catch up," Georan suggested still breathing hard.

            "Give me a moment more," Macomb sighed. In silence they waited. Then came sounds of movement toward them from the north. It was too dark to see who. "Hope its them," Macomb offered weakly, expressing the common feeling. The dark forest evoked all kinds of fleeting fears. The rustling drew near, for some reason they stayed still and quiet staring at the dark wanting something to confirm friend or foe before revealing themselves.

            "Where are they?" They heard Sleene whisper.

            "I d'know," Sirilyr answered.

            "You found us," Spencer answered relieved. The Sirilyr and Sleene shadows drew up to the tree they were standing around.

            "Where to now?" William asked.

            "We are going to walk a bit, Sleene said relieved to find them all. "Here is my plan. I'll make sure to leave a trail as well, you all leave as little as possible.  I'll wander off the trail thirty or forty feet, leaving a large trail into a thicket, then return to you leaving as little trail as I can, which should be none.  We will take it slowly and make sure that we aren't separated.  If we do this a couple of times, they should waste time following the side trails."

            William's shoulders sagged as the weight of the future pressed upon them, "These things can track? If they come, I fear I could not lift this mace to save my life, let alone my charge." He looked at Spencer standing quietly.

            "OK, ranger. You can find our way back?"

            Sirilyr nodded wearily with an affirmative grunt. Hoisting a tired thumb back over his cowelled shoulder, "Found a good spot ta rest fer a bit. The Gods know we need it..."

            "Macomb needs help," Georan pointed out sounding rather dependant himself, but his breathing was easier.

            "Damn orcs got me a bit," Macomb told them. William got under his shoulder grunting with the weight of the effort.

            "Best be off now, before we're found." His bleary bloodshot eyes swept the area around them. They proceeded back north, Sleene staying a bit behind to run decoy trails. More than anything else, Sleene reveled in her new sense of the world around her, trying to feel her way through the dark forest. It was amazing and beautiful even without the colors of light. She was in the presence of life, the multitudes of nature. The trees stood by like sentinels. She found herself almost incapable of leaving her mark as she passed. Nature welcomed her, she was a druid, she had no true boundary anymore. Her feet, her hands, became the things she touched as much as they rested on them. She found she had to will the plants to bend and twist to leave a trail. She found that disturbed her, made her feel less than she should be.  With a sigh, she resolved not to do this much.

 

            Sirilyr eventually spotted the maples against the slightly lighter sky and led them to Star hiding in the heavily brushed area underneath. "I'm gonna brush out our tracks." Taking a freshly dead pine branch from the ground he left them alone.

            "Is anyone badly injured?" asked Spencer absently, as he unshouldered his pack.  He did so stiffly and methodically, favoring his aching shoulder. "I need some light, anyone have a candle?"

            "I think I do," Star answered and started rummaging. As she did, he took out such medicinal supplies as he had and applied them to his shoulder.

            "Macomb needs bandaging," Georan said. The villager had already gone to sleep or passed out where William had set him.

            "Should we get into the trees? Does anyone have a bit of rope?" William was worried as he looked at the shapes around him and listened to the pain he heard in their breathing. No one answered.

 

            Sirilyr swept their back trail to a rocky point a good crossbow shot up the way they had come then walked backwards. He hoped to sweep away all evidence of their passing, but the night was too deep to be sure. Sleene came back as Sirilyr was sweeping; he did not notice her. She watched him attentively, thoroughly sweeping at the black ground. She wondered if he could see in the dark, for it did not seem to hamper him. He too was at ease in the woods, but he was a warrior, a soldier who had seen and dealt much death in his short life. With a start, she realized that his comfort with the woods increased her comfort with him.  She didn't like the killing, the concentration on war and destruction, but she did find that she...respected...his effort to attune himself to nature.

            By the time he had concealed their entry point into the thicket the man was having trouble moving. The soldier slipped roughly down into the brushy concealed depression under the trees. Sirilyr was exhausted and realized he could go no more without rest. He almost fell into the hiding place.. The ranger muttered, "Those able must watch..." to anyone with unseeing sight before he gave way to a deafening grayness. Feint turned, raising his head up from the cool puddle at the very bottom of the hollow in time to see his friend drop. With a fearful yelp, he was the first to run to Sirilyr's quivering side. Nuzzling the ranger's cold pale cheek, he whined and lay warmly against the fallen soldier.

            Sleene came into camp a few moments later. She saw Star trying to light a candle, "Let's leave off on the light for now.  We don't want to attract any attention.  Bed down and I'll take the first watch after binding their wounds."

            Though he was exhausted and sore, something in Spencer was hesitant to sleep.  Though drained he felt awake; his mental state of unconscious action had not yet passed.  "First watch shall be mine," he said for the first time since joining the caravan.  He'd have preferred to climb a tree for the night as William suggested, but thought his sight and hearing would be better on the forest floor. "I've got my bag out, Macomb and maybe Sirilyr need care," Spencer said from the dark where he scooted next to Macomb. "But I need more light."

            "Just a candle," Star said, "quickly to make sure they're not bleeding too bad."

            Sleene hesitated, obviously fearful. "I'll go keep watch," Spencer offered. He left his healer's bag and went off to some short distance from the others. Star got the candle lit, and tried to keep it sheltered as Sleene moved over to the ranger, making sure that he was really just asleep. Although covered with sore looking bruises, cuts and scrapes, she saw a glistening crimson stain spread entirely down his soaked doeskin trousers. The ranger had wrapped his dirty scarf around his thigh, twisting it tight with a stick.

            As Sleene looked for the rend in his pant Sirilyr rolled over and shook his head with a start, he willed his sweat-stung eyes to open. He had not recognized with the blood loss just how close he had been to hitting his physical limit. Like a wall it had stopped him. The cool loam he found himself lying on felt really good just then. His tired eyes could not focus in the candlelight. The ranger began to shiver violently, the old hag's charm the only thing warm on his body. A long slow moan erupted from the depths of his weary soul. Sirilyr remembered seeing a look of horrified surprise on Sleene's face as he again drifted away.

            She and Gendle's healing had knitted the long, wide gash where he had been stabbed deep, but it had split again. She bound his wound before moving on to Macomb. Macomb's had a nasty but clean slice and bad looking gashes where spikes had punctured and ripped his flesh. Sleene packed the wounds and wrapped them. Then she sat back and looked at Feint, then around for Nip and Snap. They had not followed back to find the others. With a worried sigh, she told the others to get some rest. Star put out the light.

            Resigned that fatigue reigned, William commented, "Rouse me only if Lord Arwan himself comes to speak! I am going to pray." He promptly flopped onto his back and worked on breathing, his silent meditation cut short by rapid slumber. Spencer listened to the night. There were distant unfamiliar sounds, but nothing near. His eyes strayed often to Sleene, but his stare was an empty one. She soon finished then dim candle glow was gone.

            He heard Sleene rustling in the damp fallen leaves. She whispered out to him, "You are okay to watch?"

            "I am," he grumbled lowly.

            "My thanks," she said with a yawn.  "Nip and Snap are not here but will probably return.  When you grow too tired, wake another for watch and get some sleep.  I leave it up to your judgment who to wake next so long as Macomb and Sirilyr are allowed to rest."

            Spencer made no other reply.  He just peered into the woods and betrayed no indication at all of hearing her words. She bedded down and dozed off. The rest of his watch was quiet; he heard animals rustling erratically in the leaves, and perhaps Sleene's wolves were out there, but nothing that sounded like ill-intentioned searching. The harrowing night was finally ending. Eventually the sky paled. His eyes adjusted to the growing light and brought the forest into clarity. It seemed with the luminescence Spencer's lassitude increased; he walked stealthily around the maple stand concealing his sprawled and sleeping companions to stay awake. The sun broke, brightly but held little warmth. An hour or so after dawn, he could take no more of the brightness, the tired watering eyes, and his wandering mind. Sleep was eminent.

            Spencer crept quietly into the entangled underbrush. "Funny, you don't look like a god," William said staring up at Spencer. "How long have you been on watch? Have you rested?" 

            "A couple hours, maybe more," Spencer said quietly.

            "You get some sleep then, I will stand awake now... I have dreamt enough this morning."  Spencer was too tired to react. William stood; Spencer lolled into his warm spot. William uttered under his breath, "My humble gratitude, Lord Arwan, for the chance to see a new day, and to live longer under your blessing, should you so bestow it!"  The morning was chilly, but bright. He climbed through the bushes less stealthily than Spencer, and squinted at the forest around. It was peaceful, but his whole body was sore and stiff. Nothing more than minor scrapes and bruises.

            Spencer's mind remained very ill at ease. As he lay he still held inexplicable, unconscious misgivings about relenting to sleep.  His body could no longer physically maintain a wakeful state, and it involuntarily shut down. But Spencer's rest was not a good one.  William saw him have fits in his sleep, and heard him utter disjointed words.  Several times he groaned and awoke with a start, only to return to sleep soon after. His inability to reconcile his troubled past with his experiences of late had driven him almost to insanity; his confusion over Sleene had multiplied the mental mess; the senseless bloodbath had thrown him over the edge.  Until William had relieved his watch he was making only instinctual, automatic responses to what was around him as if his mind had shut itself down to prevent itself from breaking. 

            Spencer was dreaming of all which had troubled him since embarking to Bilcoven and before.  His worst memories of his father were replayed for him; his parents and the village elders did their worst.  Georan plied his strange craft and spoke of it also.  The druids of Bilcoven did things Spencer had seen done by no spiritual figure in the South. Viatteni appeared and said strange things.  William replaced him, then innocent William.  Letters that he did not write appeared on his sketches, and Sirilyr struck him.  He stood in the city of Bilcoven; Sleene was at his side, smiling at him.  She disappeared, and Spencer was on a winding forest path.  There was a bend ahead, and he knew Sleene was just beyond it.  He rounded the turn, but Sleene was further on.  He started to run, but always she remained out of site around the next curve.  Suddenly the path opened onto a large square.  Snakes! Everywhere snakes, and a giant snake was on a pyramid overlooking the square.  He turned to run, but the forest behind had overgrown the path. He was trapped!  All the snakes advanced on him at once...  Now they were orcs, and innocent men rushed to meet them, and both sides were slain in great numbers. These images and others plagued his sleep through the night. 

            The clouds soon blew north leaving a bright blue sky above the autumn. William watched two wolves come through the trees. They looked at him suspiciously and passed by him. He watched them with some trepidation. He had never been near such animals. Heard them only called vicious and wild. They were of the things to fear in the forest. But with Sleene and the other druids, these wolves were friends. He saw that they had cleaned their battle wounds, and exposed their raw flesh among matted fur.

            They crept into the bushes to Sleene. Of course they woke her up being less than gentle sniffing and making themselves comfortable next to her. She cracked her eyes against the light. Sleene breathed a sigh of relief, but also cringed at the sight of her friends.  She leaned over and cleaned their wounds as best she could, applying what herbs she thought they would accept.  Done tending her friends she looked to the others, still sleeping, except William; she spotted him a short distance away from the bushes in which they had hid. Then she moved Feint who looked at her with tired, don't bother me eyes. But she did what she could to care for his wounds anyway.

            She crept out and asked William if he was still okay to watch startling him. William looked at Sleene, tightly controlled fear showing through on the brave faced youth. "Ah, good morning.  No, I do not need to relent the watch just yet.  I have just taken post and fear I have been sleeping while the rest of you took care of the wounded.  Please do not trouble yourself, I feel the Lord Arwan has cast a good eye this morning." Sleene nodded sleepily, obviously thankful.

            Smiling at the tired Druidess William said, "Go and have a rest, I will wake you in a few hours."  As Sleene turned to leave, William piped up again, "Umm... I don't know how to do this, but one of your pet wolves saved my life back there, I would like to thank him...er her? him?"

            Sleene looked at William in surprise. "They must see you as part of the pack," the Druidess replied with a slight smile.  "They are wounded and tired.  The best you can probably offer them is to help treat their wounds as they will accept or, if you come across it, fresh meat.  They are rather gluttons when they get the chance."

            He nodded with a smile, and slapped another of the little biting flies that had threatened to take more of his blood than the orcs had all morning. Sleene returned to the shadows beneath the trees. Her gaze lingered on the ranger, but she bedded down among her warm wolves and was soon asleep despite the stirrings of her mind and body.

            William stared and wondered as the sun climbed. He felt small under the blue sky and tall trees. He was too tired to risk sitting for long, so he patrolled slowly. And so it went until Star startled him as Sleene had. "I..uh..I am rested," she told him noticing his clenched jaws.

            "The sun has been around for some time, and I fear that those green brutes may not be far behind... Do you know how to read a trail in the woods?" She nodded with a curious tilt to an eyebrow. "Check our path, see if it is hidden well enough for the light of day?" He explained.

            "Sure." She shivered and hugged her cloak tight, "and maybe a fire. Get some rest." He did, and was glad for it; he was drained. As the sun approached its zenith, the southerly wind died and was replaced with cold gusts from east and west. Clouds rapidly returned from the north as well. The change in temperature stirred the sleepers. Sirilyr opened his on the scarlet, gold and browns of maple leaves floating above him against blue sky and white clouds. Star was stoking a small fire outside the bushes.

            His swollen tongue thick with thirst, Sirilyr rolled onto his good thigh and attempted to hoist himself off of the ground. A grimace and hiss of pain escaped his parched lips as he tried to put weight on the bandaged leg. "Tha' won't do..." He whispered to himself as Feint nuzzled his wound. Hopping unsteadily, he made it over to the pool of water at the bottom of the hollow. Cursing quietly as he lost his footing and fell into the mud he said, "Well by damn, I guess it's a sight better than blood!" As the soldier rolled onto his belly and sucked at the cool water.

            Filling his doeskin water bag from the rain water in the depression, Sirilyr began to survey the area they found themselves in by the light of the noonday sun. "Not a bad spot. No sir, we got lucky." Attempting to stand without falling, he rose. Using the low branches of the maples, he steadied himself as he hopped over to the edge of the hollow and peered out to view the surrounding woods.

            The quiet commotion had nonetheless roused Spencer. He remembered his wild dreams clearly, and he was wracked by several sobs and lay several minutes before he gained his composure.  He then wiped his tears and rose to meet the company feeling better.  It was as if he had unconsciously forced himself to reconcile his conflicts; had he continued as before, he would have come to ruin.  Though he still felt their passed sting, they no longer mastered him.  Some he was learning to resolve, some to passively accept.

            Sirilyr smiled as he watched the old mapmaker approach. He had grown rather fond of the curmudgeonous older man over the passed weeks. "Ye've 'ad a change come over ye Spence. And not one fer the worse, as I at first feared," he said half in thought of the events at the inn back in Ziret. Spencer turned and spat; he did not look at Sirilyr. Sirilyr glanced at the peacefully dozing William, remembering how the lad hovered around Spencer like a nervous mother hen with an errant chick. Looking back to the cartographer, "Wha' got inta ye at tha' black temple?" Sirilyr mused with his thoughts as his stomach grumbled in protest of it's emptiness.

            Spencer looked about ready to unload a forceful speech on Sirilyr.  But suddenly he froze, inhaled deeply and sighed, looking at the ground.  He then approached near Sirilyr, limping stiffly and massaging his shoulder gently.  "What got into me?" he asked calmly.  "Ask rather what 'got into' you.  I do not easily abide violence, yet you are quick to use it.  You confined me and struck me, but got no response in kind; in fact, I have since tended your mortal wounds.  Yet I have not forgiven you.  Thus do not attempt jovial banter with me, especially such as that.  Rather make amends with me, if you house any trace of reason in that head of yours."

            Arching a bushy eyebrow and with a shimmer of fire in his eyes, the still smiling ranger replied quietly, so only he and the smaller man may hear clearly. "Aye, I'll make amends Mapmaker. When I understand more o' what it be tha' scrawls ''elp me' on one o' me companion's parchments...I pay me debts." Exhaling deeply, "Spencer, don' ye see 'ow it looks ta speak wit' a voice tha' is no' yours, ta write in a 'and tha' is no' yours. Especially ta one who 'as seen an 'eard the dead walk these damp northern woods and ways? Damnit! I saw yer face change inta someone else at the inn." With eyes saddened from that memory, Sirilyr quipped. "an there wasn't a mushroom in sight!"

            "Not again..." commented Spencer.  "I have not denied the writings are not mine; but that gives you no license to dream up demons and assault everyone in sight.  That you persist in holding to such nonsense instills no confidence in me.  I doubt not that your intentions were good, but oft naught but ill comes of misguided intentions."  He sighed. "It's clear we'll reach no common ground on this, and that is unfortunate.  But at least let us strive together to unravel this intrigue; direct your suspicions and superstitions towards it and not me!"

            Continuing on more serious in his tone, "I learned long ago ta banter ta 'ide the fear o' tha' which I don' understand, tha' which chills ta the point o' freezin' one wit' fear. Indeed, ta verilly roar at Death! Fer a soldier ta show fear is fer them ta die more easily. Ta survive among the kind I walked wit' meant ta be quick or be dead." Looking about for any eavesdroppers, he asked evenly. "Wha' can anyone, who not be you, do ta bring ye peace? Yer at war wit' yerself man. I see it well in ye because I've born pain such as ya express when ye sleep meself. But, ye carry more than that wit' you... don't ye Spencer."

            "Put it to rest.  I bear what I must, as do you.  But you'd do well to rethink your fears, Sirilyr;  consider their roots, dig them up and examine them.  They may lie deep where you least suspect.  But when exposed and cast aside, your burden will be lighter."  Spencer spoke from experience and long thought.  "But don't let's change the subject, Sirilyr.  None of this speech justifies yourself to me."

            Quiet for a moment, the soldier's face took on a look one would associate with that of a little boy undertaking a solemn promise. "When ye most 'ave need o' a friend, someone ta' aid ye an yer burden. I'll be there. There'll be a reckonin'. There always is..."

            Spencer grunted angrily, obviously unconvinced that anything was gained by talking with this man. He turned to go to the warmth of the fire, his opinion of Sirilyr little changed. The ranger turned to and began to hop away awkwardly only a short distance before slipping once again hard into the mud. Landing with a smack on his butt with a barely muffled curse, the woodsman let out a deep full laugh at the realization of the ridiculousness of his situation. "I'm a one legged man waist deep in an ass kickin' contest! Winner get's the bloody prize..." He chuckled in woe. A pathetic picture indeed the worn mirthful ranger made when his gaze locked with that of Sleene still lying between the slumbering wolves. Her doe like eyes bemused to see with such grace how the mighty hath fallen. Sirilyr felt warm sitting in the cool mud sharing the moment with the lovely woman. Spencer had looked over at his tumble. He took no pleasure in witnessing the exchange. He turned away in frustration and joined Star silently at the fire.  

            As she lay, Sleene decided that repairing the fragile health of the party was going to be important.  With a reluctant sigh at having to delay exploring her new abilities, she decided on concentrating on healing abilities. She knew her strength was not full, but she would be able to call up some spells. Sleene heard the squishing sounds coming from Sirilyr's feet as he got back up; Sirilyr could feel the sticky blood down in his boot as he wriggled his toes.

            "Sit back down," the druidess commanded the ranger, rising carefully and trying not to disturb her friends.  "I have some small strength back and you need real healing." Sleene guided, half forced, the ranger to seated position and stripped off the bandage on the leg.  Frowning, she decided that there was nothing for it but to use some of her scant resources on the leg.  Dipping into a slight trance and feeling the wound, she concentrated some of nature's energy into the wound, channeling extra to heal any other hurts she found.

            When she was done, she examined the wound frowning.  "That will have to do for now," she said.  "I need to see who else needs healing."  Turning, Sleene returned to Nip and Snap and examined their wounds, treating them as they would accept before encouraging them to rest with Feint. She scruffed on them a bit before emerging from the increasingly trampled brush with Sirilyr in tow.

            Soon William, Georan, and Macomb awoke and straggled to the fire. Star added more wood from her pile to warm the bedraggled group. "Our trail would be hard for an orc," Star told William as he came up. "But not for anyone more skilled," she said with a glance at Sirilyr and slight smile.

            Nip and Snap held back from the group, not quiet comfortable.  William looked at the wolves with some trepidation. She said they saw me as part of the pack, but eventually overcame and approached with his fears huddled in the back of his head. William looked at the bloodied wolves and scratched them behind their ears unsure now which had tackled the orc. "My thanks to you!"

            Spencer approached William.  "Show no fear to them.  These are not unlike dogs; look," he said, and gave his hand to the nearest of the wolves.  "They are the opposites of horses, which run away from the sun when it rises.  This is what horses are verily fleeing.  They do not respect cowardice.  But you are of course wise to be wary; for these are exceptional beasts."  As he spoke he glanced once at Sleene but quickly returned his attention to William. Sleene looked at him in surprise, smiling at his friendly attitude towards her friends. Most were afraid of them.

            When he had finished with the wolves, Spencer stayed with William. "William, there is something I must say to you.  I am sorry for mocking you and taking fun at your expense.  No more will I call you Moppet. Still, I say you should not follow me so.  You were wiser not to join this company at all."

            Surprise showed on William's face as he turned to Spencer.  With as flat a voice as he could manage, "Alright.  I accept your apology, but your future conduct will be my judge of you... As for following you and this company, Viatteni is a wise man, the wisest I have ever met, and if he bids me to follow and guard you, then his will be done."  Softening up his features and voice, "Though I fear this might be more than I can handle, especially after what that Dricka person said--" Looking startled by something, William busied himself with adjusting his clothing and looking around then returning to the fire, where dull rations were extracted for lunch.

            "Morning.  I don't mean to pry to much, but how well do you know Dricka?"

            "Dricka?" Sleene asked, showing genuine surprise.

            "Dricka," came the reply.

            The young druidess thought a moment, then said, "Well, he has been my teacher for the last year.  I was living in the wilderness with an old Druid.  He taught me some about nature but, well, let's just say that I developed a dislike for the world of Men under his care.  The Council heard of this and decided that my education needed more...breadth.  Dricka came.   They took my friends from me and I was forced to begin ministering to the people of the Marchy.  Dricka has been my guide and teacher for that year.  He must feel that I have done well.  It is only in the last weeks that I have been reunited with my friends."

            Sleene thought a minute, then continued.  "No, I suppose that was more of me than Dricka.  Dricka is Druid.  We tend to be secretive and careful.  We desire balance.  Dricka, like all the rest, tells me what he thinks I need to know.  He teaches and guides."  She frowns, as if just realizing something.  "Why do you ask?" Sleene asks, warily.  "I thought I was the only one here sent by the Druids."

            "No need to be alarmed, but he talked to me about my master, Viatteni.  He told me that he had failed in his task of watching the hallowed graveyard... But I know not how this can be!  I have seen my master go and perform the rites, go and patrol the grounds, always seeking Lord Arwan's guidance.  Why would Dricka tell me this?  I would like to know what interest the druids have with the graveyard if it's keeping has been bestowed upon my master."

            Upon hearing William's admission, Sirilyr interjected. "Aye, fail someone 'as, fer the dead o' these parts do walk the evenin's lad. And the longest dead seek something..." The wounded ranger's voice trailed off as his gaze fell painfully upon the mapmaker, then shifted to the young mage. Thoughts of the obsidian temple near the graveyard grounds. That dark night at the inn when even the pair of priestesses had been disturbed by the events between the men. And then, that night patrol amongst the legions of dead in the woods of Tir, all of these horrid memories fleeted spirit-like through the now chill forest of his mind. Sirilyr would rather fight a thousand battles than face the sentient dead in the world of the living again. But, in the far reaches of his mind, he somehow knew he would have to before this campaign was over...

            "That may be a bit harsh," replied Sleene.  "I fear that whatever is afoot in the Marchy is beyond what the learned had expected.  But, as to the question on why Dricka would say anything, I do not know.  Remember that my order is interested in all that goes on.  We care not for the dead except that they stay dead.  Death follows life and that is...should be...all.  Perhaps Dricka simply used poor words or perhaps he simply wanted to remind you, as the Elders have reminded me, that whatever we are facing is beyond their experience.  It could be caution that he was advising."

            Looking rather abashed... "I see... I guess this problem isn't centered on the little world that I know of.  I rather thought that Viatteni was wholly responsible for this care taking... I admit, I know nothing of your Druidic order, but I am pleased to know that more people look out for the public.  More than just those who hear the call of Lord Arwan that is..." As his young mind went on to digest the details that he just learned, William's mouth continued.  "I hope we don't run into any of these dead walkers that you speak of, I get an awful fear just thinking about them!"  Looking at the pained Ranger.

            William put forth the question, "If they are not experienced in fighting the dead, what are we supposed to do?  This Oridin fellow, is he responsible?  I think we aught to track down the villains that caused all this unrest and then fix the damage caused..." With a slow flush rising in his cheeks and sudden insight appearing in his eyes, William sputters "ahh, err... I guess that is what we are doing eh?  I think I'll take my sandal out of my mouth now..." Smiling, William scratched behind his head and started to whistle.  Badly.

            Smiling grimly, Sirilyr responded. "Dricka advised nothing of the undead it be true. Owever, I think it was from ignorance o' the full compass o' the danger." Beginning to fill his old briarwood, "And all is assuredly not, as it should be lady... yet" He smiled warmly at her in remembrance of the heat he had felt sitting in the cold mud as her hands had gently held his inner thigh during her ministrations of his wound. His heart beat faster, vividly recalling the way she had blushed and then turned away from his longing gaze when her hand had accidentally brushed higher than it should have. He stirred at the memory of how Sleene had filled his senses, made him ache with her beauty, and want her to be near him always. It shone in his eyes as he held her gaze as she spoke to him, self conscious in her awareness that Sirilyr was falling in love with her.

            She flitted away to see to Macomb with a glance over her shoulder at the forest soldier. Nip and Snap nipped playfully with Feint in the wallow they had made to sleep in. Feint's tail wagged as he nervously engaged in the roughhousing with the wolves. It was obvious Macomb and Spencer's wounds were paining them, Sleene cast a healing spell on Macomb who bowed politely in deference.

            Spencer let his mind wander freely for the first time in many days.  He had somewhat regained his former focus and composure, and felt much at peace while their camp lasted.  He ate almost twice a usual ration for breakfast, being famished from the previous day's labors. Considering their mission, and the orcs, and the struggles for power he witnessed always; and considering the unexplained powers some of his companions possessed; he began to formulate certain theories regarding the supernatural.  This he told William and Georan, and resolved to return to the matter when more pressing matters were settled. To Sleene he said nothing.  It was obvious to any who knew them that Spencer resented her attitude toward Sirilyr. William tossed some of his dry meal to the wolves ignoring the tension.

            But she came to Spencer when done with Macomb. Spencer looked tense, like he was about to say something, but he just nodded to the druidess with a hint of a forced smile. She uncovered the wound. He watched it heal as her words seemed to draw energy from his surrounding flesh. The wound remained, but much of the pain subsided. "Thank you," Spencer said quietly. Spencer decided to partake in his custom of tree climbing to escape the uncomfortable situation. 

            He quietly moved off in search of an appropriate mark, and ascended to the highest branches deftly, only hindered a bit by his wound.  He looked about to see what he may, to see how far from the clearing of the villagers' abandoned camp they had come. They had come further than he expected. The ridge to the south was out of sight, but smoke from their fires rose into the sky to be caught by the winds carrying the clouds. The brown and gray canopy of the autumn forest was quietly rustling. Nothing seemed to be hunting them, but everything seemed subdued somehow. To the north the sky was dark and roiling, and advancing. The gravity of their position gripped him on a sudden.  Then he returned and suggested to the others that they must soon be on the move.  "Can you push on, Sirilyr? We cannot remain here."

            With a nod and a wink, the wounded soldier replied, "Aye, if we must. The weather we can wait out here in better stead than on the trail. I wish we could hook up wit' Arnough and the priestesses before we run across tha' damned necromancer and tha' dark mage." Shaking his head, "No matter. Either way, I'll get 'im..." He promised himself in a low-keyed voice. "I'll take them both!" Feeling the dampness in the air on his face, Sirilyr felt as one with the gray brooding clouds quickly moving in from overhead. "But I think we should wait out the weather," Sirilyr commented getting his haversack around to retrieve something.

            "Priestesses...what exactly are they about now? Georan and I have gone sorely underinformed thus far. I should also like to know at last where it is we're actually going right now, "Spencer glanced at Sleene, then at Sirilyr, "and how you came to know the way. I don't think much of randomly wandering these woods at a time like this."

            "Well now, tha' be a fair question. Last I saw o' 'em, Arnaugh was 'eading on out o' Tir wit 'is merchant's caravan ta pull one last southern supply run before the damnable snow fall comes." Furrowing his brow, Sirilyr continued, "Darvian, 'is mage, escorted the two priestesses an their lot on a 'unting party fer the bodies o' the cultists murdered by tha' insane mercenary. Durrant 'as taken 'is trade out o' Tir on the northern circuit. I an' Sleene stayed behind to wait for ye and Georan, and the cavalry to follow Orinden and his militia.

            "Orinden was found ta be a necromancer an there be undead shamblin' about, tha's why we seek 'im." Sirilyr's shoulders shuddered as he exhaled, "Brrrrrr!" Shaking off the falling autumn chill of the fast approaching gray afternoon, he continued. "So, we follow the druid's path to apprehend a possible criminal, maybe two if the black cloaked one be wit' 'im." Holding the man's glare with his own, "I know the way because it be my fate ta know it." The hard ranger's eyes flicked to the lithe druidess, "and walk along it's way and know it always... as long as there be breath in my body." Pulling his vision back to the mapmaker. "Our direction also pleases the wishes o' Cap'n Durrant who pays our salaries fer carryin' out 'is orders now don't 'e?"

            Raising an eyebrow, "ah! 'Nuff talk now. What say ye Sleene, do we march weak an wet ta an unknown end tonight, or do we render what's due ta Ceaser an pay 'eed ta our wounds an bloodloss in repose dry, warm an fed this night, risin' afore dawn ta run refreshed an stronger? How do ye wish us ta be ta meet our foemen Druidess?"

            Sleene listened to Sirilyr then said as he pulled a few old pieces of hemp twine from his haversack and was extracting a bit of dark gray canvas, "I'll be a bit less cryptic, I think."  She thought a moment before continuing.  "I'm not sure what we will find at the end of our journey.  To be honest, I'm not entirely sure those that sent me know for sure.  I suspect we chase an evil, or an agent of that evil, that is responsible for the goblins and the undead we have seen.  As for how I know where to go..." Again, she pauses for thought..."no.  Let us say that I have been given aid in that matter.  We do not travel blindly but I do not feel that I can tell you how I know our way other than it is magical."

            Sleene moved off to the side. Spencer was visibly upset by the secrecy that Sleene and Sirilyr were displaying.  They seemed to have some pact that notably excluded Georan and Spencer, and of course the newcomer William.  From Sirilyr this behavior was not unexpected; he had been acting thus from the beginning.  Sleene's guarded attitude Spencer had a harder time accepting.  He was simply baffled by her seeming reversal in behavior towards him in such a short time.  This was no longer a cohesive group, but one with clear divisions.  Spencer felt somehow that he was competing against his 'former' mates.

            Sleene took the pendant from under her shirt, turning it slowly. Sleene checked it, dangling the small hawk figurine on its leather strap. The hawk wobbled and swung, and eventually pointed just west of north; no matter how she held the strap.  Satisfied with her findings, she moved back to the others.  "I almost hate to do this, we are still tired and not fully healed, but I was told to make all possible haste.  If we can move, I would like to continue our journey for at least what remains of the day, although I fear we must find a defensible place to rest before dark."

            Looking sorely disappointed Sirilyr tried a last time, "At present, we're safe from view. Our fires can be put out in the early afternoon after we've 'ad a proper 'ot meal and won't give us away 'ere. Even if'n we moved before the sun is at it's apex, most o' us'll be 'obbling slowly along due ta loss a blood. Some may even begin bleedin' again, makin' us easy ta track." Lifting his cool blue gray eyes skyward, "It'll rain wit'in the time it takes a church candle ta burn away. That'll slow us more. We NEED a night ta 'eal properly, there's just so much magic can do. Nature 'as ta be allowed ta work Lass. If we move now, we'll only be leavin' a good spot fer what very well could be a worse situation... unless someone knows this part o' the forest and can take us ta a better spot than this before the weather closes on us. Otherwise, ye could very well create more 'arm ta our cause than good." The ranger finished tying his knots to the hand sewn holes in the waxed canvas he held. He looked to the druidess for a final decision on whether they would be warm and dry for a needed night's healing or cold, wet, weak and miserable.  In other words, easy meat for the night hunter's sure to be out searching for them.

            Georan looked up from rewrapping the book he had been studying all morning and said, "I don't know about hunting down people and how much time is available to us so I'll leave the decision to the rest of you. If we are going to rest I would appreciate knowing now so I can get to work on deciphering a spell I found recently."

            "And Macomb is much healed by your spell," Star commented. "We can go on."

            "I agree that we need a good rest and definitely a warm meal," holding his stomach, William looked longingly at the fire and at the remains of the meager rations in his hand- "but I saw an awful lot of those creatures last night.  I don't pretend to know anything about tracking or hiding in the woods, but if I were a few hundred strong, I wouldn't worry about tracking.  I would spread out in a big line.  I'm a little scared that they know what direction we went in.  You could say a lot scared actually, ha!" with a slight flush, William brushed off his last comment with a half-hearted laugh.  Though the thought of hundreds of big ugly beats following him, just to kill him grew in his mind.

            "Ranger, while I respect your experience, we have been warned that speed is life," the druidess said.  "If the rest feel as if we should stay, I will respect the feelings of the group.  At least three of us, however, feel a need to be moving onward." Sleene frowned, turning to Spencer.  "What did you see from the top of that tree?" she asked.

            Sirilyr withheld his reply, weighing the truth of the druidesses words as he too remembered Dricka's admonishment, surly he could no' 'ave foreseen the hurts inflicted in breakin' away from the battlefield the ranger thought to himself as he absently tested the new grown pink skin over his thigh wound. It would not take much to tear it again... his eyes raised from his wound to look at the mapmaker, his eyes questioning. There were the wounds of the others to consider as well. They must be fit enough to tackle their quarry when found, and as they were, they weren't much of a match for a section of goblin kids if it came down to it. There must be very good reason to move now.

            "The smoke of our fires on the horizon. But it is not so much what I saw, but felt. The forest seems tense. I feel something is watching us, and everything else is hiding." Spencer shuddered, shaking off his discomfort with things intangible. "You've had the worst of us and you'll need more than a single day's rest to heal," stated Spencer.  "Even a day's more than we can spare. It'll make little difference to those wounds whether we move now or at dawn, and the sooner the better.  Let's get on and if we need to stop later we can do so."  He paused, gauging reaction.  "Come, we'll move slowly.  I'll take a share of your gear to lighten your load, Sirilyr."

            Sleene shuddered and said, "I fear he is right.  I could concentrate my powers on healing for two days and not make us whole."

            Arching an eyebrow at the druidess, Sirilyr's old smile broke the gloom that had briefly clouded his face at the prospect of what he knew they were about to go through in journeying on at this time. One doesn't out run an approaching Autumn storm, to be caught in the open could mean death just as easily as remaining where they were and being overrun by greenskins. "Ah well, it was a lovely thought..." Folding again the waterproof canvas. "That's alright Spencer, I can manage me own gear. I don' think we'll be goin' far before we're forced ta stop anyway." A toothy grin split his sun bronzed face, "'sides I don't know if' n I could afford yer price fer services rendered. I've heard said yer services don' come cheaply." Then a bit awkwardly, "but thank you Spence."

            Despite the protest, Spencer picked up a few of Sirilyr's more weighty articles and attached them to his pack before camp was broken. The ranger's eyes were grateful. He was a man not used to receiving aid from others unasked or unpurposed. Sleene had consistently done so for him, and it had affected him in ways he was sure she could sense, as a woman knows such things of a man. He checked his gear for vipers and spiders before picking it up and strapping or slinging it on. Feint sat at his side, tail wagging in impatience to be off. He began to smother the fire with mud using his boot as a shovel. 

            William asked Spencer, "You're a mapmaker right?  Did you recognize the area at all when you went up that tree?"

            Spencer shook his head, "First time in Bilcoven."

            Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer thought he saw something move in the brush behind Sirilyr.  Low to the ground, dark colored, a snake? He was acutely reminded of his temple encounter, but his night of torment let him shed any manic responses.  He walked towards where he had seen the movement to investigate.  Snakes are normally seen only in warmer months, not at this time of year.

            Sleene watched Spencer move to investigate and paid attention to the forest, trying to feel the "mood" that the mapmaker had noticed. Getting a tinge of foreboding she concluded, "We must move on, even if only a ways.  Keep what follows us off balance and not let it concentrate its powers.  Let's prepare to go."

            Stomping on Star's fire, Sirilyr followed orders. He put the fire out under a layer of mud gathered from the hollow and scattered its ring of stones, the ranger tucked away a few large chunks of wood coal and a couple pieces of fat left from someone's meal and dropped them into his haversack. Sirilyr pulled his hooded mantle over his helm and slipped his covered head through a slit made in the center of the waxed dark gray canvas. He tied two opposite corners together between his legs by the string he had pulled through the hand stitched grommets and secured the other two corners to his waist belt. The result left him formless as a man above the knees and left his arms free to aid him in his movement. Good concealment, he thought. With his round shield slung over his back with the oilskin wrapped longbow and empty quiver beside it, he was ready to go. He had watched Sleene as she tested the power of her amulet and moved to better view the way ahead as he waited for the others to form up in their little column of march. The darkening sky worried the ranger.

            He heard the Druidess come to him, the others trudging behind. Sirilyr didn't turn at her approach, he simply said, "It's time." And he began picking his way forward, north by northwest, along the path of least resistance to the worn band. The man's eyes swept the forest ahead and to the sides as his gait lengthened as much as his wound would dare take. He slowed the march and halted every twenty furlongs or so to allow everyone to check their gear or adjust their clothing or weapons and rest briefly before pushing on. During these breaks, Sirilyr moved ahead a short ways further along the way and used his tracking skills along the ground watching for sign of passage. After the third such break and still no rain, the disturbed soldier looked up at the cloudy humorless heavens, exclaiming with a frown, "the weather's queer."

            With a snort of displeasure and unease, Sirilyr reached up under his leather jerkin and squeezed the old hag's charm tightly against his tunic. He smiled at the thing's false sense of comfort. He put more faith in his weapons. The forest was still and brooding. The humidity was rising as they began to climb yet another ridge. They had been fortunate to traverse the lengths of the majority of these since beginning their march that morning. Sleene periodically checked the Hawk figurine and provided corrections to Sirilyr as they appeared to be needed.  As Sleene's magic led them further west of north, they were being forced to climb more and more. Sirilyr had watched the druidess briefly each time she had used the amulet and was sure he could make it work if he had to. He shook off the thought of what that would have meant with a cold shudder.

            When they were again on the move, Spencer waited for an opportunity to approach Georan out of earshot of Sirilyr.  "Hey, want to have a laugh? Do that voice again and let's watch Sirilyr's reaction.  I never mentioned how great that voice was...and the eyes!  I've heard naught like it before..."  Spencer chuckled at the memory of the impression, though the surrounding events were not funny. 

            "Have you given thought to what those creatures were after at the Heart of the Marchy?  Each time we go there we are driven away.  Yet it seems clear that our path must lead us that way before the end.  Georan, we must go back, back! And this time must be the last.  Whatever we're after, it was under our noses!  Next time we mustn't be stopped..."  He trailed off and stopped walking, bent over and briefly stared into the trees to their left before moving on.  He had done this once or twice already.

            Georan stopped when Spencer did but stayed put as the mapmaker moved on watching his back. Spencer went back to walking, then realized he was walking alone. Georan waiting behind, "What ails you Spencer?" Georan asked, "You seem nervous. What is it that you're looking for in the trees every so often?"

            "I'm not sure.  I'm seeing something in the brush, a thing that catches my eye, but whenever I move to inspect it, it seems to disappear.  But if you asked me I'd swear I'm seeing snakes!"  Spencer says quietly, waiting for Georan to absorb the significance.  Before his epiphany the night before, he would have chalked it up to insanity.  He still did not dismiss the notion, but at this point it was only one possibility of many.  "They can't be snakes, but I don't know if it's my imagination, or what.  I've already seen my share of snakes that shouldn't exist..." He looked around to make sure they were alone, then up at the towering Georan.  "Georan, I do not fear the serpents.  It was not they I ran from before;  it was myself!  Instead of this," he spread his arms to encompass the world, "I have been doubting this," tapping his head. "But my follies have brought me new wisdom;  and returned me to my senses!  The serpents harbor no ill for me, Georan;  I have their respect.  Viatteni isn't so mad after all, eh?  The Lord of Serpents and all of his servants are my allies."  He turned to continue their walk while he awaited Georan's response.

            "And when exactly did you come to this conclusion?" Georan asked.

            "When, or how?" retorted Spencer, "I'll ignore the former and speak to the latter.  The answer is obvious, if one gives it a little thought. Firstly, the snakes at the temple made no hostile move towards me, whereas they swarmed those other creatures.  The snakes merely stared at me, looking to me for...something.  Neither behavior is natural for a snake;  hell, snakes don't belong here at all, not at this time of year, and not that big!  Something has summoned them here and guides them. Either they had enmity for those creatures or some reverence towards me, or both.  Then we must consider Viatteni.  Did he not start at the mention of snakes?  Started babbling about a Guardian Snake and all that.  Was it coincidence that what I saw matches his lore of the ruins? What are the chances?  He says I have been chosen.  The evidence doesn't contradict that assertion."  Spencer cocked an eye at Georan to gauge his reaction.

            Georan merely shrugged and said, "Probably."

            "So, tell me, Georan.  You mentioned you found something back at camp. What is it you found and where?"

            "A spell at the cemetery." Georan said, "But I must decipher the writings before I can use it."

 

            At the next rest, Sirilyr was looking haggard and pained. Spencer suggested that he and Sleene should walk ahead of the others as scouts, while Georan and William walk behind and help Sirilyr along for a while. Despite his protest, they collectively pressured him into taking some time off his wounds. After sucking in deeply and slowly blowing out the cool forest air through his lips, Sirilyr nodded his thanks as he felt his round shield being lifted from his back. Seeing a recently fallen branch of the appropriate length, the ranger, out of habit more than concern tried to note what had caused it's fall from a healthy tree.

            After studying the ground Sirilyr scooped up the branch. Spencer moved some distance ahead, barely in earshot so that his senses wouldn't be distracted. Calling to the mage, "Say Geo, what do ye know o' the power o' this black robed fellow we follow? Can ye hazard a purpose, my always thinking friend, as ta why he would need the likes o' Orinden?"  Using his sharp hatchet, Sirilyr made quick work of all but the thin leafy branches at its upper quarter above his head. When he was finished, he had a serviceable walking staff to aid his damaged leg.

            "I don't know," answered Georan, "I never saw him. Maybe it was Orinden himself. Besides why assume that he can practice magic?"

            "Because it's no' an assumption lad. I been on the receivin' end o' a 'alf dozen o' 'is creations when the cavalry an I counter attacked a gobbo ambush 'e 'ad planned.  This black robed feller at will can create dense fog as well! That be all tha' saved 'im from capture when I turned thar rear an shot an cut through a score or so of 'em." Sirilyr snarled with a grimace at the memory. "I got close enough ta 'ear the panic in 'is voice...I suspect 'e can turn arrows too by damn!"

            The ranger's snarl quickly turned into a grin at his magic using companion's quizzical expression. "Unlike ye Geo, I've found most magi don't 'ave the stomach fer cold iron. This black robe ain't Orinden. I've seen an 'eard tha' carcass stuffer, an this fellow is more evil an no' as base o' nature as Orinden be. Men like Orinden can be bought by smarter men wit' mere promises o' power. Orinden may 'ave even been given a bit o' spell learnin'  by this black robe...

            I wonder if 'e be the one tha' got away from tha' mercenary jailed back in Tir?" With a disgusted look Sirilyr spat on the ground. "I'd wager if 'e be the one, then it wasn't craziness at all tha' o'ercome tha' soljur. I'd bet a month o' Cap'n Durrant's pay tha' 'e cast a spell upon 'im ta do 'is dirty work fer 'im, and free that black robe up ta go an do wha' 'e wants wit'out 'avin' ta share!"

            Removing his briarwood from it's leather pouch and filling it, Sirilyr pondered, "and I still be wonderin' at what lurks inside o' the deep cavern above Tir's sink tha' as ta be guarded by day an left alone by night. We 'ave ta take a peek inta tha' place when we get back thar."

            They got going again. William, ignoring the protests of the woodsman, grabbed an arm and supported Sirilyr with his shoulder, thinking to himself his work calluses aren't prepared to handle the many rings of mail pushing down on tender skin, "not like the bucket stick,"  William mumbled to no one in particular.  Looking over to his newfound parcel and Georan on the other side, curiosity got the better of his manners.  "Sirilyr, Why do you follow Sleene?  Is it because you have known each other long, orders of some group you follow?  I've seen you two together, is that why you follow her?

            The older man lifted his helmed head tossing back it's gray mantled covering. In the tree filtered light William could see that Sirilyr wasn't much older than he. The soldier only seemed older in his actions and by the weight of his cares. It was the woodsman's eyes that struck William the most. They were the eyes of an old man...

            Sirilyr's quiet brief barking laughter subsided as he answered the young man's question conspiratorially with a whisper. "Well now, take a look at tha' fanny lad." William's face reddened as he found himself staring ahead at the not too distant druidess. Her tightly held, leather clad, well rounded backside, swayed sweetly as she walked with the gnarly middle-aged map maker. William thought the day growing warmer as he did so.

            The ranger chuckled at the youth's discomfiture. "It's alright boy, tha's natural. The true reason I foller the lady is this. We are both o' the way o' the wood. Our paths 'ave crossed in a good and noble cause. Geo, Spence, Sleene an I work for the good o' this land. Each o' us also 'as personal reasons as well I guess..." Sirilyr let the statement trail away. His eyes softening as they again gazed upon Sleene. "All tha' truly matters is we're comrades. All o' us. An comrades tested in battle are comrades fer life lad." He gave William a knowing wink. "Ye can count on that." 

            Squeezing his arm just a bit around the mage's neck, "Geo 'ere o' course simply exasperates a curiosity o' magic I got from me dear departed mither. She was known ta many as a wise herbalist and an able alchemist, ta others she was a naturalist an grand candle maker, an ta others less enlightened, as a witch. Ta me she was simply 'Mum'. An from when I was a bairn she would sing me the sweetest rhythmic songs. Turns out her spells were me lullabies. I've been curious abou' the craft e'er since I was a wee lad. And fond o' mages too I might add!"  

            "Ow abou' you young William? Why does tha' ol' crumudgeon o' a map maker concern you so much yer master would send you to worry o'er 'im like a mither 'en fussin' o'er an errant chick?" Sirilyr asked almost absently.

            Unprepared for the questions and the freely given responses, William was surprised, having become used to the general curtness of the Church's patrons.  "Well I'm not to sure really..." William stammered, trying not to let his eyes wander towards Sleene, now having her shape pointed out.  "I guess you'd have to say that I hold this watch of Spencer on account of my duties.  I don't know why my good Master sees fit to have him kept within the good graces of our mighty Lord Arwan; that which pure luck cannot sustain anyways.  I do however know that Master Viatteni is a wise and knowing man, he has helped me through a troubled time in my life, shown me a wholesome path.  That is enough for me to do as he says."  With the jerky rhythm of one who is not used to companionship.  "Besides, I see good in him, and in the people around him," looking from one to the other, "I don't think He would lead me astray in this."

            Sizing up the truthfulness of the lad by the honesty of his answers, Sirilyr acknowledged he had heard only with a non-committal but friendly, "Hrmmmph..."

            "What is it you know about our prey? Was he a kind man before these accusations?  Was he always one to fight?  Do you know of any secret cults that may be brainwashing him?" Speeding up his words as newfound excitement took hold, William looked on this grueling march of fright, with a kind of new hope and took an exuberance not yet felt. The feeling was fleeting however as the buzz of the biting flies and the stone in his shoe reminded him of the present.

            As he paused, Sirilyr raised his bushy eyebrows in humor at the fusillade of rapidly loosed questions and replied with a slight laugh. "Whoa! One at a time lad. I only knew 'im fer a night at 'is inn in Tir. He was a gruff unfriendly sort. Star or Macomb may tell ye more about 'im. I canno'. Sleene thought ill o' 'is 'taste' in decoratin'. As ya know Orinden is interested in dead things. His place held undead things o' a minor but disturbin' nature. He dabbles in a bit o' magic wards o' sorts as well.

            "Our most dangerous enemy be the fellow in the black robes. Now tha' one as some powers, or somet'in' what gives 'im powers as 'e is able ta lead gobbos an tha' can only be done through fear or intimidation. The night they brought the crazed mercenary in, the fellow tha' butchered three out o' four o' a scarlet and black clad party, all because 'voices' made 'im do it. The poor bastard killed two women an' a male. One male escaped. We're no' sure if they were 'umans or mythical elves, good or evil. All we know is tha' the two priestesses an' their guard went ta bring in the bodies.

            "The crazed soldier babbled sometin' about 'ow these liveried folks kept wantin' 'im ta lead them from a map the one tha' got away 'eld. Tha' night a powerful spirit visited Tir and was supposedly chased off. I think it left o' it's own accord meself." The ranger suppressed a shudder at the thought of encountering more undead. "An now good William, we best be speedin' up a bit." Nodding to Sleene and Spencer, "they're gettin' too far a'ead ta be safe." 

            They tried to speed up, but found that hard with both Georan and William helping. It was easier with one or the other offering support. Star and Macomb were bringing up the rear, quietly keeping their eyes out for pursuit.

            William was quiet for some time, but eventually spoke out, "Forgive my prying words, but what is this magic that you speak of?  I don't understand how one can bring forth and control power without the guiding hand and protecting shield of The Mighty Lord?  Is there a God to which you pray that I am not aware of?"

            Georan walked on, seemingly distracted by some thought, without answering William. "A God?" A deep belly laugh rose from deep within the ranger. Coughing slightly from the unused to joviality Sirilyr answered. "'Ell laddie, a soljur prays ta all o' em they know o' at one point or another!" Then a little more thoughtfully, "an then there be times when 'e prays ta none. Ya see, sometimes, a soljur feels 'isself ta be a God..."

            Noting the boy's frown at his answer, "tha's alright if ye don' understand or if ye think o' it as blasphemy. No' many folks do tha' ne'er served an fought under a banner. Ye see, a soljur 'as ta feel like 'e's invincable wit' the power o' life an death in 'is 'ands. Otherwise, well, all o' the fear an 'orror o' battlefield would make 'im run away. Pride keeps 'im in the fight. Tha' an wot 'is mates ta 'is right and ta 'is left would think o' 'im if'n 'e was ta run away. Duty too sometimes, if the cause be good." Sirilyr's eyes swung to the druidess and seem to mist slightly.

            With a slow smile Sirilyr said, "Geo yer too quite lad. What be on yer mind?"

            Georan shrugged and said, "Nothing... Everything..."

            "Ah, the mysteries o' mages..." said the ranger as he sucked in a deep breath painfully as he tried his tired leg with more of his weight. "Magic is no' really my department lad. 'Owever, we do 'ave an 'expert' on the subject in Geo 'ere. Tha' is, if ye can get 'im ta unwrinkle 'is thoughtful brow fer a moment or two. The only thing I can say about the magic we seek is tha' it would be very bad fer the Marchy if'n the greenskins or the black robed one was ta obtain it afore we. I've wondered if the black robed man as somet'in ta do wit' the local bandit bands... ever 'ear o' a man called 'Frobert'?"

            William looked at Sirilyr with a puzzled frown. "Frogbert?  No, I have never heard of anyone called Frogbert.  Is he the teacher of this Magic that you speak of? Or did he lead a bandit group that you came across?"   As William answered, he looked ahead to see the two shapes of Sleene and Spencer in the distance, and wondered if they are loosing ground.  He tried to slowly pick up the pace. Speaking to no one in particular, William thought aloud, "This 'Magic' is intriguing, I must meditate and pray on this new wonder."  Then realizing he not seriously prayed to the mighty Lord Arwan, William chastised himself inwardly and clenched his unused hand into a tight fist.  He held it until the white knuckled pain made him stop.

 

            Later Sleene came to Spencer to indicate a new direction when he asked, "Feel like telling me where we're going yet?" a sarcastic tone to his voice.  "Unless you plan on leaving us behind soon, we're all going to the same spot.  I see no reason why I should be surprised when I get there."

            "I don't know where, but who. Dainye has set this pendant," she brought out the hawk pendant, "to Feorik, the Watcher that followed us from Bilcoven, who wears Hernry's. They have seen him and the pilgrims in danger."

            Spencer threw up his hands in frustration and yet resignation, as a man who has grown used to hearing things he didn't like.  "Terrific.  What are we, their bloody keepers?  Marching off beyond nowhere to aid those buffoons..." he said aloud, but not particularly to Sleene.

            Realizing his complaints weren't useful at this point, he dismissed them with a sweep of his arm (and then a slight wince at the pain that still remained there).  "So, cultists have got the better of our good missionaries, have they?"  he asked Sleene.  "And you've no idea why they're still days north-west of Bilcoven settlements?"  There was already so much to be investigated in the March without wandering about in the dangerous woods.  "They had better be on to something up here...did Dainye the Seer tell you nothing else?" he inquired.  Spotting a familiar leaf still struggling against the oncoming winter, Spencer took a small detour, stooped to the ground and dug out a stiff black root.  "Hah," he mumbled as he tore it in two and offered half to Sleene, "months since I had this."  The other half he chewed himself, most of its length dangling from the side of his mouth.

            "Not sure. I don't know how their remote sight works, yet," Sleene concluded as she took the root and studied it curiously, surprised that she had never seen it before but knew what it was. She chewed on it with a smile. Spencer cocked his head towards her as she accepted the root, and one side of his mouth almost imperceptibly curled upwards as he saw her smile...infectious.  That smile should rest eternal there to complement her beauty;  but Spencer knew that many concerns too often warded off sheer merriment for Sleene.  Some of these he knew, some he didn't yet understand.  But one thing was certain:  it wasn't easy to best her in herb lore.  He quickly returned his glance to the fore, seeking any sign for good or ill in the visible landscape.

            "They were looking for me and found Feorik not with me. They saw him north of here and in danger. Orinden too is north, he was not with the orcs," information was coming back to her as she remembered her brief conversation with Daiyne last night. Perhaps it was the root, but Sleene felt again the sensation of Daiyne's blessing course through her. Then she remembered something else, "The map! If the pilgrims found the map, they are following it!"

            "Map?" Spencer asked.

            "The mercenary said the cultists were following a map into the woods. That is what the priestess wanted to find," she was chewing faster.

            "Mm," grunted Spencer.  "Why now?  They only just found the map...or interpreted it?  This certainly bears investigation...let's just hope our little map guides us there before it's too late," he said, indicating Sleene's trinket.

            "Can you think of any hard evidence to connect the red-and-black ones with Orinden?  There are so many factions about Bilcoven these days...unlikely that none of them are linked.  Here alone we have druids, representatives of two separate 'merchant' caravans, religious 'missionaries,' a strange cult, goblins and orcs, Orinden and his 'hobby'...at least we're rid of the Marchion's men for the instant."

            "Linda said there were five factions seeking the same thing.  She said some verses. Something her father brought," recalling the facts and nodding her head. "He was the one from Kantar, that Durrant spoke of. He came here with whatever they found there. All those that knew were killed. The monk, Riotta, the others that were here with him, buried in the cemetery - protecting him?"

            "Kantar, that's the ruins to the north?"  Spencer mused.  "Linda's father was among the expedition?  Clearly the advancement of Brigantia is a secondary concern for her here..." Spencer thought a while.

            "She admitted that in Tir after subduing that merc. She asked to ally with Durrant."

            "I still can't piece it together; someone murdered Riotta and the others, Linda's father...if they knew enough to silence the expedition, what is it they don't know?  Is it simply a physical location they seek, or something more subtle?"  Spencer's mind drifted back to he and Georan's encounter at the pyramid, the orcs, the huge beast and its human accomplices...the blood.  "Who were those bastards?" he mumbled under his breath.

            "I don't know where it is, but Durrant said Ambronay is where Riotta was. That is not in Bilcoven. He and others were killed south, in Brendil proper - to keep it quiet about Raymon, Linda's father," Sleene added seeing the question coming, "in Bilcoven. But those that came to Bilcoven were also killed off. Came with him? To guard him or retrieve him?"

            "Who knows?" Spencer said after some thought.  "All we can say is he had allies.  If any escaped the hunt and we were to find them, our task might be all but complete."  He looked at Sleene. "I'll be surprised to learn that Orinden was alone in all this.  Consider the murders at camp yesterday...  There're two explanations.  Orinden's in a race or he's keeping an appointment.  Did that psycho cultist ever say what their purpose was in Tir?  I think a lot of Tirans and cultists have been sacrificed as bodyguards to a few men with lofty ambitions..."

            Sleene nodded. "He was quite mad. Only mentioned the map they followed."

            "I shall be quite interested to get my hands on this map," said the cartographer, a lighter tone to his voice and his gait as he plodded on in the direction she indicated. They all continued on quietly for a long time, when the dark sky began to grow darker and the clouds seemingly boiled above the trees, sinking lower with each passing hour. And after climbing a long, energy sapping ridge, it was time for an eagerly anticipated rest. Sirilyr motioned for all to gather round.

            "Still no bloody rain. Listen," he whispered. They heard nothing the forest was silent as a tomb and still the clouds grew angrier above them. "Sleene, I want you to lead them on fer a bit. I'm goin' ta 'ide 'ere an wait ta see what may come up our back trail. This silence ain't natural fer a forest. Sometin's no' right. I'll join ye at the next rest. Wait a bit more then go." Sirilyr jumped with a start as Spencer whipped his head to the side of the path near him as if searching for something. The little man was beginning to worry him again. "Damn spirits," he muttered.

            Spencer looked back at him with a look of frustration. "Your wounds," Spencer said, the two words saying it all:  Sirilyr would be vulnerable if discovered and would have difficulty avoiding detection.  He would much rather they stayed together and faced any dangers as a unit. "Bring up the rear if you will, and if your leg will bear it.  But I think little may be gained by lagging far behind."

            "No worries. I'll actually be more careful this way. And safer, as I won't be seen by meself." Sirilyr replied with a brief smile. "I'll be less than an hour behind ye and should catch up wit' ye all well before nightfall. Be well." He said quietly as he began to slowly back away into the welcome embrace of the woodland shadows. "One o' ye 'elp another so as it'll look as if I be still wit' ye when ye leave in ten minutes time." There was no further discussion; Spencer had said his piece and Sirilyr would not be dissuaded from his plan to spy the spies he imagined were behind them. Perhaps the others were too tired to argue; perhaps they just accepted his leadership or Sleene’s willingness to follow the southern warrior.

            The group flopped down enjoying the much-needed break. After that short spell, the tired group decided to idle no longer. The brooding silence of the forest seemed increasingly to bear down upon them the longer they sat still. Each began almost to long for the activity of the march to distract them from the oppressive void that they felt about them. With grimace and groan they used every limb to haul themselves to their feet, bade Sirilyr well, and pressed onward at Sleene's direction. Nodding his farewell, Sirilyr rose and watched as they marched off.

            Sleene and Spencer again moved into scouting positions ahead of Georan and Wililam, who were all too happy to accompany one another before Sirilyr. They last saw him deftly sweeping away all trace of their respite; soon he would remove all trace of himself. Before long the benefit of their rest was undone and they were again laboring to move forward. If they looked up the roiling ceiling above was disorienting. It drew nearer; or else the earth was rising to meet it. Presently the sky menaced the highest boughs above.

            The party exchanged nervous glances, each somehow cautious of speaking.  No thunder was heard; nary a breeze to jostle the straggling red leaves still clinging to their branches. Every so often a tree would creak in the distance or beside them, despite the lack of wind. They jumped at these lone sounds in a desolation of silence. The air was still as chill as that morning. But the effort of their hike made them perspire into the humid air; all at once they felt suffocated by their own heat and lashed by the evening cold. They were miserable. William made faces as he tried to work the numbness from his face; Georan made no remark. They alternately shot nervous glances behind them, unsure of Sirilyr's fate. They half-expected to hear him scream out at any minute. If any danger lurked behind he was powerless against it.

            Their footsteps sounded to them like the thunder that the sky would not produce. The humidity that seemed to soak them did little to dampen the leaves that littered the floor, and they crunched with each footfall. Spencer and even Sleene were not exempt. All felt that their every step was surely being marked by sharp ears, though they neither saw nor heard sign of any other person, animal or bird, including Sirilyr. A mist was forming rapidly in the trees around them. None could tell how late it was; it had been uniformly dreary for some hours.

            "Sleene," Spencer called as he halted. "Georan! William!" Sleene and Spencer walked to meet each other, and the other four soon closed the gap. Nightfall had clearly not passed, for they could still see immediately about them, but perhaps it was not far off.  None could tell for certain. They felt that darkness might envelope them on a sudden as the fog was.

            Feeling the tension in his companions, William surveyed what he could of the fog-shrouded forest around the group.  Not noticing anything in the gray, he tried listening was surprised to notice that there were no natural sounds of the forest. A chill passed through them all.  Fearing that the evil of the previous night has caught up with them, William looked around for two things: the tallest tree near them and a group of sizable trees all growing close together.

            Stepping closer to Star, William asked her, "You’re familiar with this woods right?  What do you make of the silence, is it just a large storm, or is there more to it?" 

            She and Macomb were tired, had struggled to keep going, but she managed a smile at the young lad. “We’re far off the beaten track,” she told him. She had her own look around the encroaching fog, “and I don’t like this storm.”

            “Everything seems to be hiding from it,” Sleene agreed.

            “We have to find a place to stop,” Macomb pressed. “We can’t let it get dark on us.”

            “A defendable spot,” William suggested and looked to Spencer expectantly.

 

[b]

            Darvian woke up with a start. Had it all been a bad dream? He slowly opened his eyes and noticed that he was not alone in the room. Storn was sleeping in the bed. So the entire nightmare of yesterday had to be true and was not just a figment of his imagination. Though not exactly well-rested Darvian nevertheless felt better. With all his senses coming to life slowly he heard voices in the back room. Female voices, Linda and Mellody had to be up already and probably were discussing matters of faith.

            As silently as he could, in order not to disturb Storn, Darvian got up, ordered his clothes and walked down the hall to the back room. There he saw Linda and Mellody not too closely observing the bone pile in the middle of the room. In the bits of daylight filtering through the decaying shutters on the north wall the entire pile looked much less scary. Linda was holding the cursed mirror in her hands, and when she noticed Darvian she strolled to him, asking him just exactly how he had managed to activate the mirror yesterday. Reluctantly Darvian pointed out the strange symbols etched into the frame of the mirror. "I read these words and they apparently activated the portal to the netherworld. I am not consciously aware that I understand those symbols, but apparently I am able to read and even speak this language since my encounter with the Shamhat. I just hope that you will not ask me to try and open that portal again, it was simply too horrible."

            "I am uneasy about it still," Linda nodded toward the bones. "We should all stay away until the others return. But we may yet need this," she warned the mage. He did not want to think of it yet. Looking around Darvian noticed that neither Feorik and Rasoric, nor Karod and Brian were around. He kind of recalled that Feorik planned to go looking for the latter two early in the morning. Preparing breakfast might be a good idea to get his mind off the nightmarish pictures that flooded back from yesterday, and maybe he even would find a moment of peace afterwards to read. With these ideas in mind Darvian walked outside to look for some firewood and a place to get a decent campfire going.

            The rain was done, but the air was chill and ground wet. It must have stopped only recently. There were still heavy clouds filling the sky, but white brightness filtered through the thinner clouds between them. Around the strange tower's clearing the ring of trees crowded. Mostly pines, their dark bows were a foreboding wall, and the gray trunks and branches of the storm stripped deciduous seemed like skeletal fingers clawing their way through. Darvian turned to study the structure. The wood cabin was hastily constructed, but under knowledgeable direction. Its stone foundation, and the tower to his right, at least the base of it, seemed old, ancient even. He pondered the difference between the old and new construction for a moment drawing his eyes up to the tower's apex, before breathing in deeply fresh air to clear himself of the desiccated dust of the foul cabin.

            There would be little dry wood to be had out there; he scanned the forest again remembering in brief flashes the monstrous tree that came for them, chased them to this place. Did Rasoric say it wanted them here? To his relief he recalled the woodshed at the side of the cabin, and went to walk around to it. But his first few steps, crunching and popping as they pressed the overgrown grasses brought him to a stop. He knew what it was, but now with light to confirm it, he bent and dug through the tangle. Like the pile inside, the ground was riddled with small animal bones, most not even skeletal, just bones. As if all the remains in the forest were being pulled to this cabin, to the trapdoor in the backroom, to whatever lay beneath.

            With an involuntary spasm, Darvian remembered the book, the book of flesh and death. Memories not his, but forced on him by some hideous thing in his head. It showed him something evil coming out of the book, binding the dead to the living. The Netherworld breeched and left open. The dead want it closed, and something worse doesn't. He forced himself to think of food, of his hunger, to put off thoughts of terrible things he did not understand as long as possible. He made his way around to the woodshed.

            The wood was old and dry. It would burn quickly, but there was plenty of it, and hopefully their stay at this accursed place would be short. The door was barred though, he had to knock lightly for Mellody. With an armload of wood, Darvian made for the kitchen. Opening the door made him reconsider, the place was completely in shambles, and smelled rotten. The front room was more convenient. So he laid the wood there, made a nervous glance up the chimney to see that it was clear, and started a fire.

            He shared short interludes on watch over the bones and eating next to the warm fire with the priestesses. He found them strangely innocent to be involved in this mess. But he had seen Linda's power, and Mellody's devotion to her mistress, and to their goddess. They gave him confidence in this mission. Without them he surely would flee, he realized with a chill. He suddenly felt way over his head. So he studied his familiar books of magic; these spells gave him confidence. In fact he had time to read through another spell that he hand Delmen had not covered yet.

            Storn awoke sometime later. It was hard to tell time with the sun muted behind the clouds, but it was probably well after noon. The powerful warrior inspected their situation. He had a concerned look about him, but did not voice his apprehensions. He had Darvian accompany him when he decided to explore the tower. Mace out, he pushed open the door to the small room off the hall. The body still lay there, skull some distance away. There was no window in the storeroom, so Storn had Darvian light a torch from the fire. The place seemed in order, if somewhat barren. There was a closed door to the left, a heavy, wood door in the wall of the tower. The wall had been repaired to allow the new door to be installed. Moving by the corpse, keeping his mace between him and it Darvian noted, Storn went to the door. It was locked.

            Darvian expected him to just rip the door off his hinges, but instead Storn turned back to him, paused, then spoke to the expectant mage. “Barred from the inside, and there is no other access to the tower that we know of. That means something in there wants us out,” he explained rather fatherly.

            Darvian nodded, he had not thought of that, or of the other possible dangers of wandering the abode of a black wizard. “Possibly magically locked, and there could be other wards and traps,” Darvian added. Storn smiled, briefly, but that was enough to show that he was glad Darvian had learned the lesson.

            “We’ll wait to venture beyond that portal. I’ll get some food, and then we’ll see what is below those bones.” Darvian realized that meant Feorik and Rasoric had had enough time to search for Brian and Karod; there would be no further searching. So Storn sat by the fire and ate, and Darvian stood and watch the forest line, hopeful, but worried.

[c]

            The rain stopped, leaving only the cool drops from the boughs above. Feorik pressed on without rest, knowing he was pushing the others a bit too hard. They reached the stone bridge sometime after noon, but it was hard to tell with the sun behind the overcast. Feorik noted Orinden's interest in the bridge, but Nasir seemed indifferent to the amazing architecture. "Not too much farther, now," Feorik called.

            "There are stories about this place, this bridge," Orinden told Nasir, but everyone heard him. "It is a cursed place, and we are forbidden to come here." He ran his hand on the smooth rock railing, leaned over to look into the gorge. "I have never seen it. Heard some of the hunters talk about it. There are no animals here, they say. It goes back before the Elves. The last Dwarven city is somewhere near, and this bridge," he clapped his hands on it, "is theirs. But these were renegades, not supposed to return to the surface, and something hunted them down and slaughtered the whole tribe. Destroyed their new city, leaving only this bridge.

            "Dwarves, Elves, bones that move, walking trees ... it is a cursed place all right," Feorik muttered.  Rasoric was wide-eyed as he listened to the charismatic Orinden, who cocked an eyebrow at Feorik’s comment.

            "I think it was our dragon," Orinden told them, noticing he had caught most everyone's attention. Feorik knew the story of the great black dragon that saved Tir from an invasion of orcs when Bilcoven was being settled. Tir's hero Hescovar freed the dragon from its slavery to the orcs, but he and the dragon were killed. Or so they say, Feorik thought, there are more than one endings to that tale, and some you don't say around Tirans. And those may ring true, he though about the foul village making a dark deal with the beast for their lives, and tainting the village ever since. He glanced at Rasoric, but did not see any sign he knew the story.

            "There's time enough for stories later," Feorik said flatly. He led them across and through the damp undergrowth. He did not divert to their camp, but made a more or less straight line for the tower from the bridge. The came to the edge of the clearing and looked out of dark pine canopy to the stone tower. Smoke rose from the chimney, but that did not make its tattered appearance any more inviting.

 

            Darvian saw people approaching. Not all the faces he hoped to see were among the group; he quickly warned Storn. Feorik came from the trees leading four others. Behind him walked a man clad in red, the man from Tier, the cultist. Next to him was a dark haired man Darvian did not recognize, and behind them Rasoric and Karod. Darvian quickly informed Storn who rose quickly and bade Darvian get Linda and Mellody. Storn stepped out to confront them as Darvian rushed to fetch Linda and Mellody. With them in tow he returned to see the disarming taking place. How could it be that the red-clad priest survived while his companions were so horribly slaughtered? But then again, Darvian thought of the people missing from their rank and wondered what fate might have caught up with them. Maybe he was in no way better than this priest, just lucky to have escaped the evil presence for the time being.

 

            The Warder prayed that he was not committing the grave error of leading the wolf to the rabbit's nest as he crossed the overgrown yard.  Someone had spotted the five of them, Storn stepped from dark door of the old place and confronted them mace ready and defensive. Feorik knew that Darvian and the priestesses would also be ready beyond the door and shuttered windows with spells for their defense. “Stop there!” Storn yelled. They were still twenty yards from the cabin door. Nasir drew his weapon in response, but Orinden stayed calm.

            “It’s okay!” Rasoric called out realizing he was nearest the weird red-priest.

            “No it is NOT! Drop your weapons, all of you! If you are not enemies you have nothing to fear.” He was eyeing the red-priest hard.

            "One life lost, one found and two gained," Feorik said, regarding Orinden and Nasir.  He watched them both closely ... anything suspicious and he would be on them too.

            “Who are they?”

            “Orinden. And Nasir.”  Darvian pricked up his ears when the name Orinden fell. Could it be that they finally found the furrier, whose house had been guarded by dark magic? Maybe now they could learn more about the nature of this evil, as Orinden might have been in contact with it, maybe in a similar way as he himself? Darvian waited patently for Storn to resolve the hostilities. There would be a lot to discuss and for sure also Linda would have a few questions.

            “Draw down,” Storn warned again.

            “Do it,” Orinden snapped at Nasir as he slowly unlatched his sword belt, both sword and dagger fell to the ground. Karod too disarmed. Nasir looked pensive, he looked at Feorik and Rasoric facing him down. He definitely didn’t trust them or this situation, his lips sneered.

            He backed away from them. “Yours too,” he told Feorik, and glanced a warning at Ras.

            The huge one-eyed Warder spat and gave Karod a glance.  In iron-studded leather, carrying throwing spears, an axe and a sword, Feorik supposed he made a formidable presence.  He had gotten used to not caring what others thought about him, though.  "We're not here to kill you," Feorik told Nasir.  "We'll disarm together.  You too, Ras."

            Without waiting for a reply, but keeping his gaze firmly on the red-garbed man, Feorik eased his javelins out of their holsters, then unslung and tossed his hatchet to the damp earth.  His scabbard he grasped free from his belt.  Behind, Feorik heard Rasoric's weapons fall and then the youth step lightly away from Nasir, to stand on the edge of the group the five of them made. He did not drop his sword, waiting for Nasir to disarm as well.

            “Come on,” Orinden urged Nasir. “You are sir?” he asked turning to Storn.

            “Storn, Hand of Daghda,” Storn answered.

            “Orinden, Master Furrier of Tir. I am afraid we’ve all stumbled upon this terrible thing together. Nasir here, belongs to a cult with origins long ago and far away. They are, well, used to being despised. With good reason I’m sure, but what lies under that tower is more important than his beliefs.” Nasir was looking more relaxed. “Let us all ease up. Relax. We can to this together.” Orinden looked back at Nasir who finally dropped his weapon along with Feorik.

            Storn too relaxed his stance. Linda emerged from the door, she was very much on guard though. “I am Cannon Linda Knobly.” Nasir make a sound. “I believe you both are capable of magic as threatening as the weapons at your feet. I also wield the power of Brigit.” She let the implied threat hang a moment. “You are right Master Orinden, something terrible is here. But I am not so sure you, or Nasir, or even us, have just stumbled upon it.

            “I want you all to sit, away from the weapons. Move over there. All of you.” She commanded. They obeyed, slowly walking several yards to her right. 

            “Cannon, I assure you this is not necessary,” Orinden offered a protest, but the priestess only acknowledged with a threatening glare. They sat in the still damp grasses, crunching small bones tangled among them.

            “We have seen two people possessed in the last two days,” she told them. “Any of you could be too, so I am going to cast a spell to reveal this demon.”

            “Atrocious!” Orinden exclaimed and made to get up, but Linda’s outburst stopped him.

            “You will remain where you are or I will bind you, all of you, now! Mellody and Darvian are just inside, with spellcraft to back me up. Master Orinden, your standing has no place here. Your shop guardians have been revealed, your peers will see you burned. You will have the chance to explain yourself to me, and you will be turned over to the Marchion. My testimony will have much influence if you are guilty, or innocent. Do not move while I incant the spell.” Orinden had already sat back down, with a frustrated wave of his hand.

            “Huh?” Karod grunted. “He, you didn’t have anything to with it?” Karod turned to face Orinden with a questioning stare. “Linda will understand, but let her do this.” The man just shrugged.

            Linda cast her spell, continuing to chant as she studied each of them. She spent a bit longer with Karod and Rasoric, and concluded with Orinden and Nasir. With a frown, she stepped back and faced the seated five. “I did not find the demon present, but I do not understand much about it. Karod, Rasoric, there is something about your readings that makes me suspicious.”

            “It was in me! It was in me!” Rasoric started to panic.

            “Maybe, Maybe!” Linda exclaimed, “but not now! Calm down.” The kid settled a bit, but was still terrified. Ras was whimpering a little next to Feorik. "Karod, you fled in the night, with Brian?"

            She looked at Feorik but he just shook his head.  She continued with a frown. "How did you meet this pair, in the storm?" she asked Karod.

            "That thing…in Darvian…I just ran. I heard a great roar and just kept running. At some point I stopped. I didn't know what to do. I decided to follow the ancient road south, seek help. I…didn't want to come back here alone," he bowed his head. "In the morning, we just ran into each other," he looked at Orinden and Nasir, "I drew on them, but they explained, so we were coming back together when we heard Feorik calling."

            “It is time for your story Orinden, and then yours Nasir.”

            “And yours?” Nasir snapped. “What claim do have over this stolen lore? Family? Father?” Linda was taken aback. “Raymon stole this power over the dead. It is our realm, not yours, not Brigantia’s or Daghda’s,” he sneered at her and Storn.

            “You are not a foreigner,” Linda composed herself. “You will tell your story, and I will tell mine. But now I want to hear from Orinden. What do you know of this place and why are you here.”

            “All I know of this place is what Nasir has told me. Although, now that he mentioned it, I do remember a southern merchant called Raymon. Several of his caravan stayed, and died in Tir, and Ziret. I was young then, that is all I know of him. Nasir came to me, terrified and wounded, where I camped with the army. Semm had attacked and killed Lorren and Jeein in their tent; probably this demon possessed him. The whole camp was crazy, wanting to flee. I got them calmed down, and was keeping watch when Nasir came.

            “He told me of his companions, slaughtered by their hired guard who had gone crazy like Semm. That some powerful magic lore was stolen and brought here from far to the north. He and some of the others that discovered what was going on traveled north to learn of it, and how to fight the demons that had been released. They found the remnants of an ancient religion, he’ll tell you the details I can’t recall. They returned to…scout…the place where the magic brought, get it back if they could. After the demon attacked, he fled and found this tower, but the guardian below was too powerful, it wounded him terribly, but he was able to escape.

            “I wanted to bring the army here, but he warned that many would die. That the demons would keep coming every night, and they would be powerless against the guardian, and that if they knew of this magic they would spread word of it, and call the attention of the wrong people. I figured if I left with him, my army would return to the village, cursing my name, but I would be free of it once and for all. To journey far away.” At that last statement, his arrogant tone seemed to turn a bit dreamy.

            Feorik listened with growing disbelief, "But the Goblins? What of them?"

            Orinden turned to regard the Watcher.  "Ah, yes ... Goblins.  They're out there too, somewhere...Delak was tracking them, he is plenty capable to take care of them."

            "Your shop was guarded Orinden. Terrible things."

            He shook his head. Closed his eyes. Took a breath. "I don't know about that. All I can think is someone had done that to me," he looked up at Linda.

            "Why would someone put undead things in your shop?" she accused.

            He nodded with a nervous laugh. "I dealt with some bad men. They were not supposed to know who I was. I suppose they found out. All the better for me to leave Bilcoven."

            Nasir still glowered at Storn and Linda, the Priestess of Brigit turned and held his gaze rigidly.  Storn was quiet, as usual.  "How did you come upon Orinden that night," Linda addressed the cultist.

            The man did not answer immediately, but finally spoke. "I was wounded, I had failed. With a prayer, I begged for guidance. Nergal showed me the way south where I would find an ally."

            Linda pondered the name, but shook her head. "I have not heard of Nergal. Tell me about him."

            "You are not…Your goddess has banished him and his queen, Erishkigal, from the Bright Lands, from Annwvyn. Together they fight for the souls of the dead who your kind keeps imprisoned."

            "You learned of them as Orinden said, from the north? You are Milar. What of that journey."

            Nasir looked around at the others who were all watching him. "I had come here after your father, just a guard. My friend discovered here," he nodded at the derelict tower, "what horrible things Raymon was doing. We left Bilcoven to seek out the source - back to Kantar. But that land is now corrupt. Further north, the nomads of Senoket had fought this evil generations ago. They also taught us the true evil of the gods of Annwvyn: the betrayal of man and our eternal imprisonment. We converted, and Shamhat has lead us back here to reclaim the forbidden lore and again hide it from the likes of your father."

            Linda took his vitriol stoically. "Shamhat?" The woman's question echoed the others thoughts.

            "Prophet of Erishkigal. Who has sent us on this mission." Feorik was having a hard time keeping things straight in his mind, but that the Shamhat was a creature of this dark force, Nergal, was good to know, for Nasir said he had called upon Nergal to guide him.

            "Your companions, young girls in black." Linda pressed.

            "Priestesses of Erishkigal. Taken by the demon in Braik."

            "Your mercenary?"

            Nasir nodded.

            "What happened?"

            "In the night the demon came into him. He had slain Allif before I was awake. I fled listening to Zennip's screams…" It was obvious this bothered him, but his remorse only fed his anger and glare. "This beast must be sent back! This magic undone!"

            "What do you know of it?"

            "A demon summoned from beyond to corrupt the souls of the dead. This magic is old, from the First Wars. Demoncraft. A beast in the Netherworld, and the wall is very, very thin," Nasir warned seriously.

            "How do we protect against it? Why did it not possess you?"

            "Protective prayers will keep it from penetrating your ni, your aura."

            Linda glanced at Storn, then around the seated others, and waved Mellody and Darvian to approach. "It seems my father has indeed brought something foul back from Kantar; I must put it right. Although these stories are strange, they have a ring truth." She looked at Nasir, then Orinden. "You say you will take whatever lies below to Shamhat, and then to hide them away again. Why not destroy this lore?"

            Feorik said nothing; his knowledge was weather, soil, animals, plants, and goblins, not Mathonwy, the Netherworld, and demons.  Beside him, Rasoric looked like as if he was ready to return to Bilcoven and meet his fate there, as opposed to delve further into these developments.  But the others were clearly committed: Linda herself practically shone with conviction, and Storn's glare at Nasir bordered on murderous.  Karod was more difficult to read, and Orinden reminded Feorik of a sly fox.  Then there was the mystery that was Darvian.  He looked to have recovered from his ordeal.  Hopefully, he hadn't been corrupted by it, however.  Feorik's thoughts were interrupted as the dark priest spoke again, his laughter strangely grating.

            Nasir chuckled, "You cannot destroy knowledge. Only hope it gets lost and forgotten. The Senoket could not destroy it, it is evil from beyond this world. Whatever its form, its content will emerge again, somewhere, in some other form. It must be sealed and hidden."

            Linda nodded pensively. "We will come with you to Shamhat and see this thing done."

            "Hah. No," Nasir laughed derisively. "I will be punished for telling you so much. Shamhat will not abide your presence. Would you renounce the false gods who fill you with power? Erishkigal and Nergal have been forsaken, and will fight for the freedom of humanity from them for eternity.

            "Your blasphemy has gone far enough!" Linda snapped back. "You will not be allowed to take dangerous magic off into the wilderness to some cult of lost gods."  

            "Ahhh!" Nasir yelled as he jumped up. Storn immediately jumped between him and Linda, but Nasir was not attacking, but running away through the tall grasses toward the trees.

 

[14.2] The Dead

            The ranger stayed just below the crest of the ridge and watched through the trees back at the long way up they had just climbed. The ranger stretched and tried his healing leg, "hmmm... a bit stiff but good enough fer what I 'ave in mind." While the rest of the group disappeared, Sirilyr silently slid back into the shadows and slunk off, up the rocky wooded ridge above them to a concealed vantage point. He noted the best covered and quietest path for him to take leading off in the same direction the party continued on should he have to leave in a hurry. Also noting a good sized boulder, well sighted for rolling down onto the spot where the party had rested, the soldier smiled and placed a sturdy tree branch and smaller rock into place to act as a lever if the time came for an opportune weapon. Sirilyr then tied an iron spike to a bent pine bough, winding a trip line for the trap across the route he would take if he had to run as a parting gift to whomever maybe following him. 

            This done, he situated himself behind a fallen log, pulled his mantle over his helm and quietly waited, listened, and watched in the oppressive stillness. Only the heat from his forehead would show to any gifted with heat sight, they would think the source only a small animal, should he be spied at all. A calamitous calm fell around him, so heavy he had to will himself to breath for fear of too much movement in the natural act. "Now we'll see..." The soldier whispered in thought to himself. His sword and hand axe sat lightly in his gauntlets. It was as if they too were waiting in anticipation.

            Sirilyr's wait was not long. A shiver ran down the soldier's sweat soaked spine as the singing of the few wild birds and insects stopped suddenly. Peering over the bulk of his concealment, the ranger spied a lone lean and very hard looking goblin with a bow. Warily it picked it's way up the ridge. The goblin was keenly tracking Sleene and the others. "By the gods... I've ne'er 'eard o' a gobbo what could track!" Whispered Sirilyr to himself. "Uh-oh..." The ranger spotted another skulker, it was keeping in the shadows of the nearby tree line, another archer, keeping it's eyes on the terrain surrounding his brother for danger. "These boys ain't the dirty sewer rabble from Bilcoven. They move like soljurs."

            The ranger sat motionless, eyes hardening as the pair moved animal like onto the party's former resting place, their noses sniffing the wind and ground. The tracker sniffed his way to a tree which had been used by one of the men to relieve a full bladder. He began to circle out from this spot until he had found the direction Sleene's party had taken. The well equipped, but down at the heel creature skittered in a tongue similar yet different to those Sirilyr had heard and fought in Bilcoven. His fellow joined him in a brief, heated exchange. Then they waited, back to back under the shade of a clump of tall bushes. Their cloaks helped them to seemingly melt into the foliage as they sat unmoving.

            Three more of the greenskins appeared in the glade down the ridge. Two spearmen in studded leather jerkins carrying a spear the length of a man with shields and a pair of javelins in their off hands, followed by a smaller female sporting a wicked looking, long silver dagger with a curved blade. The large breasted gobbo wore a doeskin wrap around shirt or dress like garment, and carried a large bundle on her back. All wore the mottled green cloaks of the other two leather armored goblin scouts. The two groups joined directly below Sirilyr's hiding place. The scouts stood upon their fellows' approach, then knelt, each placing a clench clawed hand to their left shoulder before what the ranger could now tell by her many dangling grotesque charms was a spell caster. Again the gobbo tracker reported his findings.

            The goblin spell caster dropped her burden, extended her hands, and in a shrill, screeching voice intoned the words of what only could be a spell. A blood red painted nail pointed to a large elm tree. Almost instantaneously three more goblin spearmen walked right out of the trunk of the targeted tree. Sirilyr paled with shock, then registered horror as two more figures emerged from the tree's passageway. "Hobgob great swordsmen!" Hissed Sirilyr lowly. He was about to crawl away when two clawed hairy paw-like hands scarred the elm's trunk as the last creature pulled itself from within. This thing was much larger than the others, and muscular. "It's as big as a bear! But walks on two legs and dresses as a man... and is armed as a warrior. It no' be a mythical werebeast ‑ it's clothes and studded leather armor fit it. An would ye look at the size o' tha' bloody axe on it's back!" Thought Sirilyr in wonderous amazement.

            Weighing his options, Sirilyr thought briefly of initiating an encounter. "Not even on a good day..." He decided discretion would be the better part of valor under the circumstances. Presently, a slight shaking of the brush behind him made the ranger immediately drop below the log and roll onto his back with a start, weapons at the ready. Releasing a barely audible gasp of relief as Feint crawled between his legs and up his chest to lick his human's whiskered chin. The hound's bent ears lifted slightly and he stretched to peer over Sirilyr's shoulder below. The dog's lips curled in a snarl and a low growl arose from his chest. Sirilyr wrapped a gauntleted hand around the hound's long nose and held the now twisting animal to him closely. "Shhh! Be quiet ye damned dog. This be no time fer heroics!"

            The ranger cautiously looked to see if the animal had been heard by those below. Although he had not been spotted, they had heard the noise in the otherwise silenced woods. He noticed the bundle the witch dropped had come open; several of those twig creatures were untangling themselves, fighting themselves to be free. He spent too much time watching the macabre group of monsters; one of them shouted a warning.

            Sirilyr released Feint, sternly but quietly commanded, "Sit", and quickly levered the centrally pre-aimed boulder down upon the crowded gathering beneath him. He heard the exclamations as he scooped Feint up and quietly and quickly as possible hopped his trip line and ran for his fellows without looking back. After a bit, Sirilyr did not hear any immediate pursuit, he slowed to use all available cover and concealment. But he knew this bunch was coming, slowly and surely - not hastily - and the coming night would be their advantage.

 

            Spencer understood the scared young William's desire to always know about being followed too. "Stay here, and together," Spencer told them, "I'm going to scout for a cave, at least a wall we take refuge against. I suppose the fire debate is moot," he said as the first drops begin to pelt through the mist.

            "There was copse of spruce up ahead," that, he knew, would give more cover than trees with no branches close to the ground and mentioned as much.

            Looking at the steep wash they were traversing between two ridges Spencer said, "We can't camp in this wash, it'll be a deathtrap come the storm. I'll move along the top of this taller ridge and see if I can find a good spot in the rocks above." With that said, he stalked off up the ridgeline, cursing that damned Sirilyr for leaving them to this fix. Moving just so his head could peer over to the other side of the crest, the mapmaker watched for a moment before scrambling over the ridge himself. His muscles ached from all of the walking they had done. He looked for another tree to climb.  Finding one with enough of a purchase, he climbed.  After having looked from the highest vantage point he could, the mapmaker was unsurprised but worried to see the mist building all around, on both sides of the ridge and in the vale below.  But he had seen what he was looking for not too far ahead.

 

            Looking at the tired group and noting Macomb's desire to stop, William looked to Sleene and hoped she too was willing to stop for the night.  She was checking her pendant; it wobbled and again pointed squarely in the direction they had been following. With a look of worry, she nodded, "We cannot keep going in this storm." The fog had thickened and was taking a yellowish orange hue.

            Noting the change, Georan spoke a few words in a peculiar language. The words seemed to linger on in the fog after they were spoken. His incantation set a golden glow upon his eyes, and he scanned around him slowly, but shook his head, "This is trick of nature, not magic."

 

            Returning to the ground, Spencer noted the fog had already risen to his level and air was suddenly chill. "Damned visibility is closing in, maybe twenty paces and that's all." After walking a bit, Spencer found what he was looking for. "Ahhh, that'll do nicely!" The cartographer returned along the bottom of the crest, never silhouetting himself against the reddening maroon sky. Descending back to the others, and into the deep fog, now yellow in the dusk. "I've found a fine campsite." He said happily as he wiped the sweat from his furrowed brow. The man was pleased at the prospect of passing a dry night.

            "The fog's coming up the other side of the ridge as well," explained a sweating Spencer, his bald head glistening with dampness. "Come along, I'll show you the way." he continued.

            "Wait! Listen!" Star cautioned with a hiss, "something is coming up the trail, moving fast.

            Sleene commanded, "Take cover to the side of the path!" Sleene ushered her wolves, and the party scattered to both sides of the trail and concealed themselves in the foliage and fog; they could only see their next few footsteps. Breaths were deepening in fearful anticipation at the unknown approach. "Ah, it's probably Sirilyr." Spencer spoke lowly to the others as they crouched in hiding. Very shortly thereafter, the ranger did in fact come loping up, Feint slung over a shoulder and bouncing along as he was carried. He jumped as his companions stepped back onto the trail as he hove into view through the quickly moving fog.

            The soldier's bared weapons were tightly grasped in his other hand. "We've got'ta run!" He panted, almost dropping the hound to the ground beside him. "We're being tracked by forest gobbos the like I ne'er seen before. Two spearmen an' two archers. They foller what looks ta be another damned greenskin shaman. She conveys their support usin' single trees as portals it seems ta me. I saw at least three more goblin spear & javelinmen an' two hobgoblin greatswordsmen step through, an somethin' else, somethin' so 'orrible I shudder at memory o' it's visage! It be a bear like man sportin' a behamoth o' an axe o'er 'is shoulder. All are armored in leather or studded leather. The goblin bitch is also carryin' a large leather bag o' those damned stick creatures wit' 'er. Tha's all I'se able ta site before me friend 'ere made 's appearance an let them 'now 'e did no' like the look o' 'em."

            Sirilyr finished the tale with a stern grimace at the young large eyed hound happily staring up at him with it's tail circling like a windmill behind him. Ruefully smiling at the animal, the ranger quipped, "no mind though... we just rolled a large rock on 'em an 'igh tailed it out o' there! Didn' we fella?"

            The soldier quickly grew serious once again, "We 'ave ta follow the advice we were given an make 'aste. They will come upon us, an' find us in the night if we stop. They found the restin' place where ye left me by sniffin' up a tree young William there wet upon."

            The boyish apprentice reddened as the others turned and stared at him briefly. He apologized with a mumbled, "I had ta go. Nobody said to me anything about having to hold it in!  I uhh, people cant just not go you know. It's just not fair. Errrr. Sorry..."

            Grinning at the lad broadly, Sirilyr said, "no matter lad. We all 'ave ta go from time ta time. Troublesome fact is they can track us by our smell. And I think they can spot our body 'eat. We can find a place ta ambush 'em. But these wretches ain't yer ordinary green scum we've run up against before. These seem ta be special 'unters, specifically sent ta 'unt us. Some o' us will die if we face them. Stoppin' them ain't our goal. Our goal lies beyond the top o' this mountain range. So I 'umbly press tha' point and say we needs be move on, an rapidly."

            "Can anybody raise a bad smell in a big area? "  Asked the now truly terrified William.  "And then we run like Hell!  All agreed?"  Looking at the party looking at him, William tried to reason out his feelings, internally berating himself for this lack of control.  The odd colored mist boiled around them, seemingly indifferent to the approaching threat.

            "Don't worry William, we have all been in tight spots before and I'm sure we will get out of this one."  said Star as she patted William on his shoulder.

            Scowling, Spencer let out a deep sigh.  "Sirilyr is right, we must keep moving."

            Grunting, Macomb raised his voice to carry quite clearly.  "But how can we keep a pace that only puts distance between us?  I say we ambush them!  Lets all make a smell here like William knows how," embarrassment conquered William's surprise as he blushed, "and then lay in wait.  All of us hit the shaman so reinforcements cannot arrive."

            "Sleene, we must go. We are weary, 'aving already fought two major battles in as many days without resupply o' arrows or provisions. We are weakened from wounds and fatigue.  Those who track us now are fresh thanks to magics and be well provisioned and determined. They will not tire! If we fly now, perhaps the rain will wash away our scent and tracks, slowing them down. This will allow us to slip away." The ranger spoke in earnest to the druidess, her hair already curled with the wet under her soggy mantle as she listened to him.

            "If you feel for some reason unknown to the rest o' us that we must face this pursuit. Then we still must go and find a place to ambush them in a close and vicious charge from 'iding, or 'ope they 'ave sought cover so we may seek them out in that place in the darkness." A furrow creased Sirilyr's brow, "although, I fear the night shall aid them more than we..." Blowing a drop of rainwater from the end of his nose, "either way, we must leave 'ere now." The mud-splattered soldier looked the druidess in the eyes as he awaited her answer and their fate. The rain began to beat faster around them muffling the forest sounds and seemed to the group that the thickening mist was taking on a sound...an undulation like that of breathing.

            "Is your camp defendable?" Sleene asked Spencer.

            "I don't like the prospects. A hollow is all, I didn't go in the cave, it is just beyond the thicket there," Spencer pointed to the spruce atop the ridge, but the fog had shrouded them in.

            Macomb rumbled from deep within his chest, through pain clenched teeth, "I do not feel that we can outrun such skilled trackers as these beasts seem to be.  I have noted that the worse the evil that infests the creature, the more frightful the endurance of such things.  We need to hide and make ready for the worst.  I might suggest the spruce that we see there."

            "Lets get up there," Sleene decided and struck off clapping at Nip and Snap who had settled ahead aways. Looking at the sky, William saw the dark menacing clouds with a new sense of hope.  "Perhaps," he mumbled to himself.  Looking at his fellow adventurers, William noted how tired they are, and how, much like me he thought, they need sleep. 

            Now the rocky slope was slick, and their angle of ascent steep. The fog was not so thick at the top yet, but the orange had become a sick greenish color as the sun began to set. Moving quickly along just under the crest the approached the shadowy thicket. An unease passed through them. Unspoken, they each assumed the hard march and impending threat had caught up to them.

            The trees surrounded an outcrop of stone, and a vertical fissure. But this site, although promising from afar, had been chosen before. Their hopes of a place to stay dry and safe were replaced with apprehension. The trees that guarded the entrance held a horrific scene revealed from the mist only as they drew near. Corpses were lashed at terrible angles to the trunks. Bones, still bearing sloughing flesh, had been broken and twisted to form these deprived mutilations. Skulls were split or squashed against the wood, held by ropes so tight they cut through the oozing decaying tissues. Weapons lay at the foot of the trees, arranged in some demented tribute to the slaughter. Five men had died in this place, and their lifeless bodies used in some macabre ritual.

            Aghast, the first of them to make a sound was Star as she gasped and rushed to Macomb as he approached. Sleene stopped her wolves from nearing the shadowy, unnatural sepulcher. It was too dark too see in good detail, but she suspected as Star that they had found some of the missing huntsmen of Tir.

            "Geo, do you see any sign of magical wards present?" Sirilyr asked. Georan looked from Sirilyr to the gruesome scene before him. Taking a deep breath to steel himself Georan mumbled his spell. With his eyes glowing golden in the gloaming, he first looked around then moved towards the trees to examine them more closely. Sirilyr shadowed the mage undaunted by the spectral glow that put the others ill at ease. Georan slowly passed the first few trees in the copse to come upon the first of the victims' trees. The broken arms and one leg of its victim were wrapped around visible to the mage; it faced away from him. All five of the dead men were strapped facing each other in a ring.

            "There is no sign of magic," Georan announced, a fearful quaver indicating his trepidation. Georan approached the ring staying as far away from the two corpse trees at his sides and not breaking the circle itself. As Georan peered into the ring he felt the hair on his neck rise with the chill of otherworldly eyes upon him, but all else he could see was still. The weapons at the base of the trees were mundane; daggers stuck in the ground and bows leaning against the stricken corpses. There was little else inside the ring of trees, which was about ten feet in diameter. The ground was too dark to determine if a pentacle had been scribed.

            He finally mustered the strength to study a corpse; not the two next to him, that was too close, but across from him, still semi-lit by the dim greenish glow of the mist and clouds of dusk. He fought nausea of fear and the smells of death as he traced the rain slick body from feet to fleshy skull with his eyes. No sign that there was lingering sorcery upon the man. But above his head, something was carved into the tree. Georan quickly averted his gaze. In his minds eye, he studied what he had glimpsed so briefly. Licyn had taught him of runes or symbols that cast spells or worse upon the unsuspecting reader.

            But this was crude, letters maybe, and they did not glow from magic. Georan looked around the ring at each tree again, keeping his focus low. No, there was no magic lingering above the corpses. "Something is written above the bodies," he told Sirilyr, "but it is too dark to read." Georan turned slowly from the ring to face Sirilyr and glanced at the corpse next to him. Letters too, but he could only see a couple of them, E-R.

            "Poor bastards." The ranger closely circled the sacrificial area searching for traps. "Come on," he called to the others lingering away from the copse while the two inspected it. "Star, Macomb. Do ye know these poor souls?" They approached, holding hands firmly. Georan was still nervous about this, and warned them from entering the ring. The corpses were unrecognizable, but their tattered clothes and weapons proved they were Tirans. Sirilyr looked to the Tir man now holding the ashen-faced Tir woman close against his shoulder. "Would they have been carryin' anything that could help us stay alive now that ye know of?" We can see if they 'ave anything we need. They sure won't be needin' it anymore."

            The comment elicited a sob from Star into Macomb's shoulder. The man just stoically nodded, "They'd a' been equipped for a three week hunt." But there were no packs in the ring of trees. The looked in the direction of the fissure, but the dusk and fog had obscured it from sight.

            "We’re going to need light if we investigate further," Spencer said coming up. "But that will surely show us to the goblins, especially up here," he warned.

            With concern running through the party, many thinking the same things, others wondering if indeed the beasts have the will to keep up pursuit if the party were to flee, William spoke up, with a faltering voice but then confidence as he contoured, "There was an incident not to long ago when Master Viatteni had to clear a rather large bear from hibernating in one of the larger crypts.  Neither he nor I, at the time at least, could match the bear for acts of violence, and nither of us being woodsmen could outwit the beast.  He called upon a warrior from the Grey Plains of Voice…the third plane where the Wandering Spirits are to be found, and this mighty warrior smote the beast and even skinned the carcass for us.  He then returned to his place of origin.  I know my Master is just that, a Master, but I watched carefully the ritual.  WIth the good grace of Arawn, I might perhaps summon one of these men. To tell us what had happened, and fight for us. If everyone is in agreement, I need to start immediately." 

            "Are you serious?" Spencer asked incredulous. "Bring one of those back?" he pointed to the lashed, mutilated bodies.

            William looked unsure, but then said, "He will have form as in life. But we should get these bodies cut free and buried too."

            "Won't they be monsters?" Star asked.

            Again, William paused as he recalled his lessons in matters of the Netherworld. "I…uh…don't think so. Were they good men in life? If they have not passed Arwan's Gate, if they want to be found and avenged, they will be here. I feel they are here, but I do not have to knowledge to seek them out. My spell will open the way, and they will come if they want."

            "I don' like it," Sirilyr cautioned. "Messin' w' the dead only leads to trouble of the worse kind. Ah'v seen the spirits of the woods stalkin' lad; ya might let somethin' else through ye' wish ya hadn't."

            "I can call their names," William reassured them, but he didn’t realize they still did know which of the missing hunting parties this was. Still faced with uncertain looks, William tried again. "We can't leave them like this; they've lingered in death, waited to be found and put to rest. If we go they'll haunt us; even if we just lay them in the ground, they won't have their peace. If I bring one back, he'll tell their story and we'll carry it, and tell it, until they are avenged. Death and life are not so different. If that was you Sirilyr, killed and left like that, and you had a chance to name your desecrator, and to fight again in this world?"

            The ranger pondered but a moment before answering the young priest. "Nobody does my fightin' but me boy. 'Owever, were I ta meet a fate like the one what befell these men... An only if I might be able ta avert a similar fate from befallin' other good folks. Then, an only then, I'd wish ta be disturbed. As fer life an death being kindred, they be part o' the same whole it is truth. But they are as much alike as the difference betwixt livin' awake and sleeping. I prefer life awake! In death, I'll be remembered fer what and how I lived. And that'll be communication enough after I'm gone..." Sirilyr's stern look softened. "Do as ye must William."

            Georan turned to the ranger and priest, and spat on the ground at this suggestion, "Not while I'm here he won't."

            With shock on his face, William turned to Georan, "Why do you resist this Georan?  I have seen you with your glowing eyes and heard your incantations.  What I have not heard from you or about you is prayer to Arwan.  I don't understand how you can have power without his blessing..." A shudder seemed to run the length of William's spine, "It seems to me that you get the power from another source.  The only other source is from the dead.  There are evil people out there who tap into and harness the energies from the Netherworld.  These people are committing blasphemy, for the realm of the dead is Lord Arwan's domain.  To take from it without permission is to risk his wraith, but I have not said such to you, for I wish to see what evil, or perhaps good I hope.  You use power for yourself and say that sanctioned usage is against your wishes?  This puts much fear into me."

            Georan's eyes narrowed as William spoke. "You dare accuse me of necromancy?" he hissed. "You speak of summoning shades and binding them to your will in the name of your god! You speak of sanctioned, SANCTIONED necromancy and dare question me! My power is mine and mine alone and I need no god's blessing or permission to wield it as I see fit. As for the realm of the dead it is the domain of the dead and NOT for the living to disturb."

            William, unsure how to express more shock on an already shocked face simply gaped like a fish for a moment.  "NECROMANCY?!? YOU THINK THAT I TALK TO THE MIGHTY LORD ARWAN ABOUT NECROMANCY?!  JUST TO THINK THE THOUGHT BURNS ME ON THE INSIDE, AND YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO SPEA-"

            Sirilyr had been shifting uneasily between the two users of occult mysteries, but he did not step back from his place slightly between the two arguing men. His continence was cloudy as he mulled over William's question and the growing heated debate. But then, quietly, reaching firm hands to both their shoulders, in a hushed but solid voice he spoke, "while sound is muffled by ground fog on a night sech as this, and workings o' magic and faith may undo us...if ye continue to steadily raise yer voices, we will all be undone as sure as these men 'angin' 'ere can attest. Ye be learned men, and allies, not the savages tha' track us now..." The wet and weary soldier shoke as a rivulet of icy mountain rainwater runs down along his spine. Feint, sitting quietly at Sirilyr's muddy feet, yawned before vigorously shaking himself off between the three humans standing in the middle of a developing downpour. "Bah!" Said Sirilyr as he winced from the showery spray as the hound trotted off for a drier spot under a nearby fir. "Damn dog," Stated the ranger without anger, as he realized the animal's good sense.

            Turning from Georan to Sirilyr William settled, "Sorry, but my emotions have gotten the better of me."  Looking back to Georan, William hunched his shoulders as if preparing to carry a heavy weight. Macomb, not following the argument, had walked to one of the trees and put blade to the tightly knotted rope, sawing at it to unbind his fellow. Star too left the debate to join him, but made the comment, "We can't leave them like this. If William can learn what happened to our friends, we should. But I don't want to see them again as zombies!" She started to dig out a torch.

            A bit perplexed, William's face screwed up in concentration, "To call for a spirit, to bring the soul of the dead back is something that needs to be done from time to time.  There are laws and worlds beyond here, which the normal teaching of Arwan does not tell.  We wish not to put fear into or dishearten the masses, so we few men and women of the cloth tell them not.  But here I stand and tell you know that evil exists beyond the mortal usage of the word.  Death is merely a furthering of the soul's teachings and there are times that a soul is to be brought back to aid in our quest for the banishment of evil forces.  This is one of those times, and I urge you to set aside your fear and learn from this."

            "Fear?" Georan sneered, "I do not fear necromancy. If I feared necromancy I would have left at the first whiff of its stench instead of leaving the caravan to battle Orinden and his ilk. I despise necromancy and if you insist on animating one of these corpses I'll give you something to fear."

            "My master has warned me about this.   He says that because people will not understand the ways of the afterlife, they will fear it.  With fear will come persecution and pain. Listen now for I will teach you of these things, and rid you of your fear.  Time however is made short as Sirilyr points out, so I will make this brief." With a subtle deepening of voice and a straightening out of his back, the young William continued.  "When we die, we go to a place that is a battle ground of good and evil.  Our souls wage war on that which we hate. 

            "From here there are other places to go, of which I will not speak of now.  What you are accusing me," William narrowed his eye as he took a deep breath to steady himself, "of, and what you think I accuse you of, is a truly vile corruption of the powers that we mortals have. To bring back the dead and infuse the spirit into a corpse is one of the worst things to do to a soul.  That is not what I propose.  To ask the soul to come to our aid is something completely different.  It is if I ask you to turn the bed down or prepare the fire.

            "The soul has a chance to return to the living world with the guidance of a priest and the blessing of Mighty Lord Arwan.  The danger, for there is real danger, is that the soul that returns may not have come to grips with its passing and would seek to wreak vengeance upon all the living.  The priest protects us by erecting a glyph upon the ground to contain the spirit, until there is agreement of continuation."

            Looking at William he added in a level voice dripping with sarcasm, "As for that good and holy act of summoning a dead man's soul, trapping it in a ward till it agrees to comply to our wishes and then setting it loose to wreak havoc on our enemies, which of course is not necromancy... I will sadly have to decline allowing it."

            With a sigh William continued, "All that I wish is to bring forth one of the young, who, being young, will want to avenge his more untimely death upon those who ravaged him so-" Seeing from the corner of his eye, Macomb cutting down the corpse, William moved to see closer while saying, "Careful!  There may be wards that are in place, or vile traps set by the perpetrator, for this certainly looks to be the work of ritual...Touch not the daggers for upon them might be the focus of the magic!"

            "And try not to enter the circle." Georan added, "I agree we can't leave them like this but I doubt if we have time for a burial."  Turning to Sirilyr Georan said, "You are right. This is not the place to discuss the intricacies of summonings, the secrets of the afterlife or the delicate ethics of the use of magic. Suffice to say that I do not plan to allow the casting of the particular magics and that there is no time for the lengthy discussions that are necessary to convince me otherwise. Now, what do you think we should do? I, for one, advise against resting here."

            I do no' like this place. We need whatever these poor men 'ave ta give us. And I'll step inta the circle ta collect it as I must as soon as you be through, successful or no'. I'd prefer that no fire be lit if it can be 'elped though. And 'ard as it is, we must no disturb this scene if we can 'elp it. If we do, the gob's an whoever did this evil thing will know we were 'ere." Swinging a sweeping gaze to the others gathered round the macabre scene. "Yer too bunched up! Ye want ta make it easy fer those gobbo 'unters? Spread out a bit an take what cover ye can while the lad does what 'e must. Any wit' good eyes fer the dark may want ta take a discrete peek inta yon hole an see what lies just inside. Be wary, fer I feel there may be the likes o' dragons about. This mist is unnatural, more breathlike than I care fer. An these men were torn asunder by somethin very powerful. And from their condition, somethin' wot as no' eaten yet..."

            William then continued on to where Macomb was removing the dead from the trees.  "There is no sense in stopping now, the beasts will know that we were here, so we may as well remove the dead from the tees." The vexed man nodded at the young priest. Kneeling down to where Star was crouched, sobbing into the mist trying in vain to light a torch with shaky hands, he whispered. "I need to know the name of the youngest of the deceased, will you tell me.  I mean no harm to him or this party." Then, aloud he continued, "All of us here feel your grief Star." Taking the torch, and lighting it for her, "Please, go now and aid your townsmen remember what I ask."

            The ranger cursed in response to the idiocy of disturbing the scene of the ritualistic slaughter and in the awesome horror of a dawning realization. "Fools! Ye give notice ta the world o' where we are and where we go by what ye do! Do ye wish to be as dead as those men? Because by disturbing the circle with yer noble intent and decency ye will have us join them in death! Think ye not that their shaman not be attuned to their temple? The pursuers are forest bred, this be their un'oly shrine." He hissed in a loud and edgy rasping whisper while shaking his head at what he now knows to be complete lunacy, "Sleene! Spence!"

            Spencer had left the macabre scene and discussion to watch up their back trail, as much of as he could in the misty rain. He grimaced when he saw the flickering of the torch dimly illuminate the copse from within. He snuggled closer to the trunk and underbrush concealing him at the edge of the trees, ignoring the ranger and hoping once again that he survived the night.

            Sleene had listened to the argument with arms around her wolves. The scene had hit her hard, she could not look upon the bodies. Last night she fought with the Bilcovs, with people she knew, but it was one thing to fight and die in battle, another to be slaughtered like this. She was just discovering the power of the world around her, she knew nothing of the world after. "All I know is the Bilcovs revere their dead, and they trust them to Viatteni," she told Georan and Sirilyr as she stood. "They have to get them down."

            Looking at them, Sirilyr answered, "Our path lay in the direction o' that cursed amulet. Not here! Not now! Any who stay 'ere now are good as dead. Now that they insist on disturbing these bodies...William, there is no time to spare on what is unknown! However helpful or distasteful it be, to do what ye will would leave the same result in the shaman's discovery o' where we are... if it even worked fer ye. We must go and quickly. With the breaking o' their shrine, the vile shaman who follows us will now know exactly where we are..." The ranger carefully strode over to where William and the two Tirians stood caring for their dead ignoring the outsiders in their grief and what they consider to be their duty to kinsmen.

            He scanned the now lit circle of death. Aside from the bows and daggers, five broken spears formed a pentagon about a pentacle. Macomb had released two bodies that fell in unseemly piles and was cutting free the third and Star the fourth. There was no other gear. With a snarl and not a word to them, he trotted to the hole in the earth then stepped against one wall once he had come hard by the entrance. The brown hound whined and refused to go near the gaping maw into the dank depths and lay down with his wet head on his muddy paws. Sirilyr nodded at the hound before he too lay to peer in by quickly poking his head round the edge of the opening. He stopped breathing and listened carefully.

 

            William studied the glyph and ignored the brusque ranger, thinking to himself, Of course to find a glyph or to see some type of writing in the earth will give clue to what happened here...The breaking of hunters' spears was a common sacrament, but to arrange them such? This was a contradiction: why honor the dead, but mistreat their bodies and lay such a symbol before them. Protection or binding? William got an uneasy feeling that perhaps there was something here to worry about, something beyond his power.

            "Their names," Sleene said from over his shoulder. William looked over his shoulder at her, then followed her eyes. Letters carved above the bodies. "Eoin, Melcier, Daug, Peadar, Sean," Sleene read somberly. Star gasped again as she released Peadar's bonds and he fell. Even in the rain, her tears were obvious. Macomb got Daug down and moved to Sean. Star came to Sleene and William who now stood with the torch. He was perplexed by the presence of the names too.

            "They were the first lost this spring," Star told Sleene. "Before you came to us." Sleene's emotions were already strong, that she had not known these five did not alleviate her anger. "But there were six," Star considered. "Morgan is missing."

 

            Sirilyr suddenly felt very alone against the cold stone. He could swear he saw something move, a shadow cast wrong from the orange torchlight too far away. Despite his pounding heart, the ranger allowed his ear to drop to the damp forest earth and listen for faint vibration as he watched, eyes straining to pierce the inky darkness of the black hole. Rotten air wafted out, but nothing sounded but the breathing of the fog growing louder. Then a deafening peal of thunder broke as lightning swept the sky. Startled, he swiftly rose and turned to call to the others as something burst from the hole and slammed into him.

            It was a pale thing with tattered remnants of clothes, and very strong as Sirilyr was painfully pounded with a flurry of blows hitting mostly his pack, but a solid punch to his side made him cringe as something inside was bruised or worse. In a quick instinctual move, Sirilyr spun back pushing the thing away with his shield, and slashing a long gash across the front of his attacker. Facing it now, he could see this thing did not bleed. A dead man, eyes dimly glowing green, flesh of face and body tight and drawn to bone in death. His blade had torn open what was left of the shirt and bit flesh, but the wound was black and dry and did not pain this creature who still fought to push aside the shield and rake and punch Sirilyr with its knotted, thick nailed hands.

 

            To leave the names to be read, to protect the souls from harm and to keep the souls in this plane... why?  Why keep a soul but save it from affect of the netherworld - then present the name so one can find the soul...Easy to retrieve, and kept in peace...The simple rumbling of his stomach set William's thoughts in place as though shaping them as a key.  Not having seen Sirilyr step away, William spoke as he stood, "Sirilyr, you say there is some beast about.  I think I know why and what is going on here!  We must leave now!"  Grabbing Sleene by the arm, "This is a place of offering!  I fear some kind of beast that eats souls!"

            The suddenness of the attack had taken Sirilyr back and onto his guard like the charge of a disturbed bear would have done. But in his wildest dreams, he would never have conjured a site such as that which assailed him now. His inherent childhood fear of the undead instantaneously erupted within him. "AAAAagh!" he growled as he smote the vile creature with a mighty shield smash, bumping it back and pushing away from the abomination.  With his face wide-eyed with terror he bellowed, "William! Earn yer damned keep!" The soldier backed towards the rest of the group using all of his fighting skills to frantically force the dire thing to bay and avoid its icy touch that he was sure would burn his very soul.

            Hearing the yell, William and the others spun to where the frustrated ranger had stormed off. They saw the pale thing in tattered clothes pounding away at Sirilyr who was frantically backpedaling and desperately trying to keep his shield between him and the dead thing's blows. Feint yelped as Sirilyr backed into him. "Feint! Away with ye!" He commanded to the cowering hound, who not needing to be told twice, took off at a dead run for the protection of the others screaming in terror.

            Fear and dread welled up in William's throat, "I have not the power to protect you all from this evil, me must leave!" Star and Macomb were staring gape jawed, William still held Sleene's arm.

            Spencer ran up, "The goblins are coming. Up the ridge!" Then he saw the thing attacking Sirilyr.

            "Those beasts of, I fear, are much easier opponents than that which lives here."

[b]

            Feorik leapt to his feet immediately, as did Orinden but not so swiftly. Darvian and Mellody stopped their approach and Storn went defensive ready to pounce at Orinden. The mysterious furrier froze hands wide partially standing.

            "Shall I bring him back, Linda?" Feorik asked, ready to sprint after Nasir and bring him down.

            "Let him go," Orinden said. "He'll not go far if he is so dedicated to what lies beneath this place. Frankly, he scares me a bit. His encounter with whatever guards this place hurt him badly, and rattled his mind. He spent the nights muttering and praying; I haven’t seen him sleep. But I still take him seriously." He turned and watched Nasir run. "If we recover these books, scrolls, whatever, he will have to deal with us on our terms."

            "Us?" Linda focused on Orinden. "Let him go," she told Feorik, "I don't know what we'd do with him amongst us. I think he as soon kill us as work with us, whatever he thinks his death-god wants him to do - and that may change from one minute to the next."

            "I won't let him have this lore," she turned back to Orinden, "Whoever or whatever his Shamhat is, that is not part of this anymore. And you must answer to the March." Orinden blanched, or was trying to control his own anger. "What is this business that you say has caused some dark wizard to frame you with undead creatures?"

            "Let's just say in my quest for adventure, I got in a bit over my head. The less anyone knows about it the better. There are some nasty people into some bad magic; people beyond the March's reach. Really, if Nasir is right, and this stuff falls into these people's hands, there will be bad trouble. I don't know where he came from, this Senoket, or Kantar, but don't take this lore back to Bilcoven! Me either, or I'm good as dead. Worse than dead."

            "And why should we believe you?" Feorik said as turned to face Orinden, his voice angry.  Clearly the man's presumptuous 'us' had also been noticed by the huge one-eyed Warder.  "When we first met you, Orinden, you were heading to fight Goblins.  A lie, one you were willing to tell to the entire town of Tir!  Where are those people now?  You think of nothing but yourself!"

            " 'Nasty people with bad magic' you say ... in TIR?" Feorik's rising voice was incredulous.  He took a deep breath and calmed himself. "Bilcoven may be corrupt but its problems are goblins, not demons.  Your lies are just as damning as your sorcery, and as dangerous."  Feorik spat as he re-slung his weapon belt and gathered his small throwing spears and axes.

            He turned to fac Linda and Storn.  "Killing this Red Priest may be the wisest course.  Rabid animals must be destroyed.  Sometimes there is no cure," Feorik said fiercely.  "I'll be inside." Feorik took a last glance at Orinden as he walked away and spat again.  "Don't trust this one, he is a fox." Mellody followed him while Darvian continued forward.

            "I know what you think," Orinden told Linda hiding not perfectly a growing ire with the belligerent officer. "I came to you with Nasir knowing it. Karod thought that you should hear what we had to say," he glanced at the trees where Nasir had now disappeared. "But if we cannot work together for a common cause, than I am at your mercy. But I fear going in there without Nasir, as odd as his beliefs, there is power in them. And he has been in there, knows the way."

            Darvian listened calmly to the statements. But after the Warder left Darvian stepped closer to Linda and addressed Orinden. "I kind of have to agree with the Warder, Orinden, you are not telling us the truth about your involvement in this story. I have seen the dark magic protecting your furrier shop, those bats were intended to keep people out. They had a single purpose and nobody framing you could have instructed them likewise.

            "And second, I do not believe whatever you tell us about Raymon. I heard rumors that the two of you were very close at one point, so why do you claim now that you barely know him? I think you would do better to really tell us what you are up to and be more specific about what exactly we are going to face within this tower."

            "Rumors?" He shook his head, "It was years ago, I was a kid. None of us knew why his men had stayed behind. They didn't talk about it - especially to a little spoiled brat like me. And I was not lying about the goblins, and I fully hope Delak has returned and led to their slaughter."

            Storn finally spoke, "All these words are like oil and water. We can't have him with us down there."

            "You are right," Linda still studied Orinden with sharp eyes. "We must bind your hands and guard you while we investigate the cellar." Storn stepped up to him menacingly.

            Orinden stared back for a moment, but then presented his arms wrists together, "At your mercy."

            Storn roughly grabbed an arm, dropped his mace, and spun the furrier around to hold his arms behind his back. Linda pulled a coil of rope from Storn's pack and the man was indignantly bound like a criminal. Rasoric watched Orinden carefully noting the odd calmness with the tinge of irritation, a sign that there was indeed some turmoil in the man that took much of his patience to tolerate this insult.

            "Storn, you and Mellody watch him while we go down," Linda said as he was secured.

            "I can't let you go there without me Lady," Storn stated. He pulled tight on the rope and put a heavy hand on Orinden's shoulder to ease him on the way to the cabin door. "Get the weapons, he called to Rasoric and Karod. Darvian was not unhappy to see Orinden bound. He simply didn't trust the furrier and he was also glad that Nasir would not join them further on. His mistrust of the dark priest was even bigger, there was something unnatural about his escape from the evil Shamhat.

 

            Inside, Feorik had sat with some food Mellody handed him from their earlier meal. He was tired and angry and sad. Mellody did her best to show strength, but her eyes were tearful despite. He told enough about Brian in few statements to satisfy her curiosity and to get her to direct her attention elsewhere; he just wanted a moment to rest. He was glad to see Orinden bound and led into the cabin by Storn; neither mistook the other's glare.

            Storn pointed Orinden to the corner tattered, dirty chair. Linda looked around the room, moved out of Karod and Rasoric's way as the entered with the weapons that had been dropped. "We must see what lies below that door, but someone needs to stay and watch Master Orinden and watch for Nasir. Storn and I will go below, and I want Mellody to stay up here. I need a couple of you to stay with her," she looked from Karod to Rasoric to Feorik and to Darvian standing next to her.

            Feorik nodded.  "I'll stay up here with Ras."

            Karod glanced back and forth from the various faces and back to Orinden, but the man from Tir was staring at the floor.  Resting, or plotting?  Feorik wondered.  Karod said nothing for a moment, his initiative and will seemed gone.  Had the horrors of the storm broken him, or was it shame from fleeing like he had?  Or was it something else ... Feorik didn't trust anyone who had spent time in Nasir's company.

            Karod nodded, "My mission does lie below. Although I don't share Durrant and Sirilyr's suspicions of your involvement, I should see this through."

            Wasn't the mystic Darvian needed below as well?  Feorik's gaze held the question to Linda as he looked from the magician to the Priestess and back. Darvian knew what they were thinking; he was a bit scared. On one hand he felt obliged to go downstairs and help investigate the evil he had invoked yesterday. On the other hand it would be much safer to stay up here and guard Orinden with Mellody. Fighting off his fear he decided that he had some responsibilities. "I will join the party investigating downstairs," he said as calmly as he could muster.

            "We'll go soon. Karod, Ras, you need eat," Linda told them. Mellody brought them food. While Linda watched outside to make sure Nasir hadn't returned quickly. They ate and rested in uncomfortable, tense silence. Orinden sat on his hands and stared morosely at them, or at nothing. After the brief rest Linda, Storn, Karod, Darvian, and Mellody then headed down the hall to the back room leaving Feorik and Ras with Orinden. The bone pile still covered the trap door.

            "This mess was animate somehow, attacked us last night," Storn told Karod. "Beneath it a trap door."

            "Animate? The guardian Nasir mentioned?" Karod questioned.

            "I think not," Linda answered. "Not very powerful - animal spirits. Is that what you saw Darvian? The magic of this place has somehow angered them."

            "Saw?" Karod asked growing more concerned and confused.

            "I don't know what I saw, I don't want to believe what I saw. She is probably right," Darvian was ill at ease with what had happened. Since waking he was doing well at ignoring the strange thoughts and memories that flitted about his mind as if behind thick glass bricks by keeping his attention on this world, food, the tower, the people around him. But the mirror, the bone pile, these things threatened to make the world drop away around him, leaving him stranded on the point of a spire that would soon disappear and let him fall towards an immense, hellish landscape full of grotesquery and evil.

            "You okay man?" Karod asked as Darvian took on a faraway look. "Whatever it was, its just bones now." Karod approached the pile and kicked the stuff. The bones and grit splayed away from a corner of the trap door beneath. Karod turned to Darvian who watched in slow motion the bones collect and rise up in a thick-clawed arm. It actually happened very fast, the appendage crashed against the back of Karod's armored legs, scaring a shout from him. Mellody screamed, and Darvian found himself backpedaling.

            Linda had gasped too, and was groping for her holy symbol. Karod jumped away from the bone weird as it rose up into the morbid column of fluid bits of bone. He bashed into Darvian, and they righted each other against the wall while watching with horror. Together Storn and Linda began to call upon their gods. As before, whatever multitudes of angered spirits animated the collection of their remains was driven away, back to the Netherworld by the divine power channeled through the priestess and paladin.

 

[c]

            "Ras, you think you can climb the roof of this place?  Better able to see that Red Priest coming that way." Ras had taken Linda's position watching for Nasir.

            The little man scratched his nose.  "This roof ... of course," he said and then jumped up and stepped outside and looked up, examining for a way up. "I can probably make the tower too," Rasoric announced.

            "Go," Feorik told Ras. "Don't trust the stones to be sturdy, though."

            With the lithe youngster occupied with ascension, the one-eyed Watcher turned his attention to the scene outside the window, with Orinden in his peripheral vision. A silent minute passed, and then Feorik turned to Orinden.  "If it makes any difference, my duty is to the March, and its people from Dir to Tir.  Even those corrupt fools in Bilcoven.  Though I respect Brigantia, and Storn's patron as well, they are not my Law.  If there are things you wish to tell, but fear righteous judgment, I will hear it in confidence…"

            Orinden still stared into space, not moving, not acknowledging Feorik's words. He seemed deep in thought with a dire look on his face. Feorik focused on the man, but only for a moment when the shouts from the back room erupted. Feorik was on his feet and down the hallway, sword drawn, as quickly as his feet could move him, towards the noise. He burst into the room to see the cloud of dust where the animated bones had fallen. Linda and Storn ended their chant and lowered their icons. Mellody, to his right was catching her breath. To his right, Karod stood against Darvian.

            "Gods!" Karod exclaimed. He slapped Darvian on the back with a chuckle born of fright.

            Darvian noticed the slap Karod gave him, but his mind was elsewhere. Ashen-faced he turned to Linda and Storn. "They are not dead, they are still around, I saw them yesterday. Your power disrupts them, destroys their organization, but they are still animated, dashing around, full of hatred, trying to attack us. And whatever controls them will be able to gather them again for another attack. I think we should gather all these bones and bury them outside, blessing the tomb, in order to avoid another attack on our return from whatever lies below."

            "A good idea.  Bones belong in the earth," Feorik averred.  He took a deep breath to calm himself, and then gathered a bunch of the bones and stepped out of the back room quickly. Glad that he could do something about this threat and that the others didn't think his idea too outlandish, the rest of them grabbed a share of the bone pile and followed Feorik. He had exited through the side door and woodshed and scanned for Nasir.  Where had the Red Priest gone? Seeing no sign of him, Feorik walked into the weedy field around the cabin, looking for both Nasir and for soft earth.  He picked a spot to dump the bits of bone and prepare to dig a shallow grave. But a thought crossed his mind. Darvian and the others came out with their loads of animal bone. "Best off scattering the bones over a wide area," he called to them as he rose and walked around the front of the cabin.

            "On one hand he is right Karod, distributing them might prevent them from reassembling again soon. But do you see all those bones lying around here? It looks like the force awaiting for us is strong enough to attract those bones, no matter how separated they had been at the time of their demise. I think one large grave might do the job better and it would give Linda less work to do, blessing them in the name of Brigantia and thus spoiling them for evil intentions." While speaking Darvian had a sudden strange feeling of being watched.

            He turned around as Linda agreed he could not see anybody obviously looking in his direction, but when on a hunch he looked up towards the tower he suddenly saw Rasoric up there, actually climbing up the perpendicular wall. Darvian's mouth fell open as he watched the kid move deftly and spider-like up the rough stone wall. "How, how and why is he doing that?" Darvian stuttered, while pointing with his hand up to Rasoric, indicating him to Linda and the others. Ras had made the roof and halfway up the tower.

            "To keep an eye out for Nasir I suppose," Storn answered. "Foolish, we don't know what is in there." They went to Feorik's spot, and Storn and Karod set to loosening the weed-choked earth and dig the hole with their daggers. Under the weeds were more bones; they surrounded the cabin like a gruesome carpet. The damp ground was easy to dig, and Darvian and Mellody cleared the loose dirt and occasional rock the others excavated. It was going to be a slow, cold process in the bright overcast and gusty weather.

            Something drew Darvian's attention at the tower. Ras was still clinging to the stones, but something hovered in the air behind him. Ras turned to it, and as Darvian was trying to figure out what it was, the young boy shouted in fright. Darvian watched the flapping winged creature dart at Ras, then the boy screamed and fell from the wall. Horrified, Darvian stood; the dark winged shape was gone. Mellody screamed too, Ras hit the roof and fell out of sight beyond the roofline. Karod called out as he ran around front with Linda and Storn not far behind.

 

            At the entry to the dilapidated cottage, Feorik had tossed a bone shard that had clung to his sleeve at Orinden to break his trance. The bound gentlemen slowly gazed up at Feorik with a very annoyed look. The watcher sized him up, "Willing to make yourself useful?  We've got bones to bury," Feorik growled and jabbed his finger at the back room.

            "Of course," Orinden replied evenly.

            "Don't do anything foolish," Feorik said and then moved to Orinden who stood from the chair awkwardly and turned his back so Feorik could get to his bound hands. Just as Feorik was starting to loosen the well-tied knot binding Orinden, he heard Ras's startled shout from outside, then his scream, and the crash on the roof above that sent a cloud of dust erupting down from the rafters. They both saw Rasoric quickly drop from the roof to the ground outside the door.        Stunned, Feorik stood aghast. He heard Mellody scream and the others called out in alarm from aside the cabin.  "Damn," Feorik swore, and dark curses followed as he roughly shoved Orinden back down and move to the edge of the room where he could see outside better.  The urge to run to Ras was strong but Feorik didn't want to leave the house ... for Nasir was probably on the roof!  But how?

            Karod rushed to Ras' side, and Linda moved quickly after, calling for calm and for Karod not to touch Ras as she kneeled by the fallen man.  Storn stood ten feet behind, scanning the roof. Fighting down a rising anger, Feorik went to the flue, quietly, and listened for any noises of someone coming down the chimney. There was nothing, silence, perhaps a rustle from the wind.

            "Ras? Rasoric?" Linda called gently to him, but there was no reply. The boy had fallen on his shoulder, face down, bad angles. His shoulder and collar must be broken, and probably his neck. Linda held his hand, and grasped his wrist. She shook her head, and tightened her frowned lips. Tense moments passed as everyone looked to the young man, lying there.

            After waiting as long as he could stand, Feorik called out from inside, "Linda, does he live?"

            Linda began a prayer, "Brigantia, Goddess, see this young man to your everlasting light and warmth; let not his soul be troubled, he has served you in this mission."

            She rolled him onto his back. There was no wince of pain; Rasoric was dead. Mellody turned away, his chest was bloody from a compound fracture beneath his padded armor, and fought back tears, but eventually started to sob. "One by one! We're dying... one by one ... ohhh, Brian," she managed before stifling herself. Karod's expression was unreadable, and Storn behind them had turned to face the trees.  Everyone also saw three glaring, deep scratches stretched down his cheek.

            The others had run to Ras, but Darvian stayed rooted to the spot for a moment trying to spot the dark winged creature that had attacked Rasoric had appeared out of nowhere and vanished again just as quickly. Probably was nesting within the tower and felt threatened by the climbing Rasoric. There might actually be more of those beasts in the tower and they could attack again. Wary, watching the top of the tower suspiciously, Darvian followed the others and heard Linda's lament.

            Ras wouldn't have slipped.  Nasir was behind this!  Where was he?!  Feorik's thoughts bordered on murder. The Red Priest had to be found! "Karod, get in here!" the Warder bellowed.  The man looked up, and moved slowly inside the hut.  He looked numb.  "Keep an eye on this one," Feorik growled, jerking his thumb towards Orinden.  His one eye glared balefully at the furrier from Tir, or necromancer, depending on what one believed. Without waiting for a reply, Feorik strode outside.  "I'm going to find that Red Priest.  If he's not on the roof, then he's out there.  We'd be crazy to go below with him out here somewhere."

            "It wasn't him. Something out of the tower, I saw it flying next to him. It must have done that," Darvian told them.

            Feorik hefted a javelin and spun to face the roof.  "What?  What did you see?"

            Solemnly Darvian turned to Feorik. "I watched Rasoric climb the tower. Suddenly out of nowhere something winged, like a huge bat, but it had legs hanging down, and spikes on its head. It was there when I glanced up, and gone the instant he fell," Darvian answered. "I assume that it might hide within the tower, probably roosting up there and savagely defending its young. Poor Ras should not have gone up there without support. But now we have to be additionally careful, knowing that there are other living creatures around. And there I thought this evil power hates everything living, but maybe the tower holds special powers to keep it out..." Feorik said nothing as continued to scan the surroundings for the horror.  And from Darvian's description, it was a horror not from this world.

            "Sounds like the thing Sirilyr described," Linda commented. "How big?"

            "About half or less Rasoric's height. Come to think of it," Darvian pondered aloud, "the beast almost looked like a giant version of the creatures we had to fight in the furriers shop in Tir. As unlikely as it is, with him being tied up inside the house, but maybe he knows more about it..." Darvian's voice trailed off at this unpleasant thought. "Or if not the furrier himself, then maybe somebody with similar but enhanced abilities like Raymond?" With a questioning glance at Linda Darvian continued to eye the tower suspiciously.

            "That one won't tell us a thing," Storn stated then added, "The tower's barred from the inside, and likely trapped."

            Feorik turned to face the wood.  He was ready to go in there, and find the Red Priest.  Then he faced the tower.  He could climb up there, and bring down whatever creature plagued them.  But the shadowy interior of the building held their true goal. "Let's bury Ras and get down that hole," Feorik growled.  "Enough of this."

            Linda nodded her consent and rose from Rasoric's side. "Let us remove the bones, and take Rasoric beyond the bridge. This is no place to lay him to rest."

            "Orinden?" Darvian asked.

            Feorik looked over his shoulder at Karod, "Keep him bound."

            "Bring him out so we can all watch him," Storn ordered.

            They went around the cabin leaving Mellody to say solemn prayers of passing to Rasoric. Linda stood so she could watch both her, the grave diggers, and for Nasir. Karod had shuffled Orinden to Storn who sat him unceremoniously on the ground. Karod continued breaking ground. Darvian bent to help, but Feorik grabbed him. "Darvian, you've seen this thing, so keep watch while we dig. I want to track down that priest," Feorik told Storn.

            "Not alone," Storn responded as he lowered himself to the hole. "He'll see you coming. Probably watching us."

            "Arrgh! He belongs bound alongside the furrier," Feorik spat his frustration.

            "After we take car of this!" Storn returned. "He won't come after us alone."

            Feorik grumbled and bent to help clear the broken earth Karod had amassed. Without proper tools only a shallow grave was possible. They were silent as they dug and watched. The cool gusts kept them from sweating too much. When they were a few feet down, they relayed the animal debris from the back room and covered them. Linda and Mellody said a benediction over the grave. Feorik carried Rasoric; memories of their short association played through his mind. A good kid in a bad place. Tears welled; he had not lost tears in both eyes.

            Storn led the procession away from the tower and into the still, dying wood. Linda and Mellody walked to Feorik's left, and Darvian to his right. Karod followed them. They all watched nervously for Nasir, but the cultist stayed out of sight. The sound of the water flowing, echoing off the deep gorge was soothing, better than the lonely sound of the wind. River burial was appropriate for a warrior, but there was no way down to its bank from here. The ground on the ridge beyond was too rocky, and they had to climb down to the valley beside. Enough soil had collected there; it was full of rocks and roots, but they managed a deep enough grave.

            After the benediction, they stood around the shallow grave listened to the water. Feorik realized the others were looking to him while he was saying whatever good-byes to the dead in his own mind. He was grim and silent. Mellody kept her peace as well, but she once glanced too long at Karod and there was something more than pain there.  She mourned her lost love. They noticed the glance, but said nothing. Darvian missed Brian badly, but he simply didn't yet believe that Brian was dead. Without his body there was no proof that he might not have escaped alive and maybe simply got lost in the forest in an attempt to rejoin the group. But why had Karod survived and Brian not? Perhaps her thinking was along those bitter lines but the insight passed too quickly.

            Feorik also worried about possession, especially in Karod. "Time to finish this," Feorik said having no words.

            Back at the cabin Darvian expressed his concern, "We should not split up. Bring Orinden with us whatever he might be up to we might be onto him just in time ... or he might actually play an important role down there."

            "We must round up Nasir first," Feorik said. "Going into a hole in the ground with an enemy at your back is not wise."

            "What do we care about Nasir right now? Whatever he might be up against back in the forest, we can always deal with him later."

            "I'd be happy to stay in the house there and keep watch."

            "Let's stay together," Linda agreed with Darvian, "But we'll all go look for Nasir. It grows late in the day." Darvian was not keen to search for Nasir, but followed the others silently; it was his idea to stay together. The priest only had been trouble and now he was causing more of the same . Feorik traced him back to where he entered the wood. It was harder to track him beyond the rim of undergrowth around the clearing where rain moistened pine needles and fallen leaves covered the ground.

            The man had circled around the tower, but came back around the south side. He had rummaged through their abandoned camp, then moved to the gorge, and over to the wash. There he seemed to have disappeared. No ropes, no easy climb down. But there was an opening at the bottom. Darvian felt ill at ease, "This spells like more trouble from the red clad priest. If he managed to climb down there easily he will be at an advantage should we try to follow. He can hide in the cave and attack us on our way down while we are very vulnerable or alternatively he might be hiding somewhere deep inside, planning an ambush on whoever might enter the cave first. But I guess you all want to continue to chase Nasir and go down there?"

            "He might be down there," Feorik muttered.  Happy to be able to track the Red Priest down, the emotion had quickly run to frustration at the man's disappearance.  Feorik peered over the edge a while.  "Nasir's powers are unknown to me, Linda," he said to the Brigantian directly.  "But can a man fly?"

            She nodded and looked down the cliff. "There are powers to grant any wish," she warned and cast a look at Darvian. "Float in air, invisible."

            "We all know he wants to find what is underground," the Warder added thoughtfully.  "If I were Nasir, I'd know that opposing so many directly is not the answer.  Instead, I'd let us find it, and then try to take it by guile at the end."  Feorik frowned.  "Even if we could get down there without breaking our necks," he said, gesturing down to the gorge bottom, "and search for Nasir in the dark, he might be able to move undetected and sneak down below ahead of us.  Let's go back."

            Storn looked grim at the turn of events while beside him Mellody knelt at the lip and gazed into the void, perhaps looking for Brian's broken body on the stones below. He put his hand on her and took his own moment of silence for Brian. Linda stated a prayer for Brian over the river. When done, they walked back through the woods, stopping to get the rest of their stuff from their camp.

Copyright 2004

Brett Hulett